


Hope Resurgence

by Yumi



Series: Otromorph [2]
Category: Alien Series
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Atypical-typical aliens storyplot, Betrayal, Character Death, Crossbreed, Fictional Locations, M/M, Major Character "Death", Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other, Otromorph, POV First Person, Science Fiction, Secrets, Sequel to Hope, Sort of tragedy, Xenomorph (Alien) - Freeform, Xenophilia, references to official lore and novels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 11:16:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yumi/pseuds/Yumi
Summary: Being lured with the promise of being able to see his missing father, Hope has no choice but to travel light years away to planet LV-808. As time passes, more secrets get dug up, and the Xenomorphs lurking at his window seem less of threat than the humans around him.Sequel to Hope, part of the Otromorph series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi welcome to the sequel of Hope. Please read that for more info on the characs. 
> 
> I know people absolutely hate the fact that the main antagonist is still alive, and to make things worse, there are now two to boot. But hey, twice the fun :) The story format is different from Hope, and I hope you'll enjoy getting into our main character's head.

“Are you nervous?” A voice asks. “Our estimated arrival date is tomorrow.”

My eyes don't lift from the plate of mush they called potato mash. I'm not too fond of it, but there is little choice of food when you're stuck in outer space. It isn't that it tastes bad or anything, but the texture is too soft and the chefs made it exceptionally sandy, almost as if I had decided to lick the garden patch in my yard. It's just nasty.

“Can't say I am,” I shrug in reply as I push the plate of disastrous side dish away. At least the pasta was decent. I stand from my seat, asking if I can return to my room. Sitting for too long makes an particular ache known.

“Back to the room?”

The person I cast my eyes to speaks again. Shen Ling, a taller male of mixed oriental blood. He has jet black hair and eyes, and a small scarring on the underside of his chin (said he fell during sports). He is the leader of a small squad of five who are currently assigned to being my escort as we travel to LV-808. Shen is smart, probably the tactician of the group.

I nod in reply.

“Want a candy?” Someone else asks and I have to decline shaking my head with a smile.

Ignatius Lawson, a tall, dark-skinned man who seems to have issues keeping hair on his head. Despite sporting the tallest physique, he has been nothing but kind towards me, and offers many things, from sweets to trips to the gym. I decline them most of the time, but that doesn't seem to stop him from asking every other day. He assumes the medic role of the team, and I have yet to see him parade around without a med pack by his belt.

“Quite trying to feed that damn kid sweets already,” a lady snaps. “He's gonna turn diabetic before thirty.”

Iris A. Hersdale, the only woman in the squad whose mouth pours more sarcasm than sweetness towards her comrades. Perhaps hanging with men all the time has made her pick up a rough tone in order to not be looked down upon as a female soldier. Iris has brown hair, but the ends of her shoulder-length is painted red from hair dye. She is in charge of firearms for the team, and her fiery nature is one force to reckon with.

“Juz give eet to ze kidz. He can eatzit layta.”  
  
Walter Olkeys is a chunky, blond man with an accent that makes him a little harder to understand, but generally, he is a nice person like Ignatius. His hair is peppered with white, but that does not reflect his prowess when he can toss many other soldiers to the ground and pancake them easily. I'm presuming he's the best out of the lot in combat terms.

I wave my hands to reject the hand extending in my direction that has a small, red wrapper in the palm. “I tend to prefer sour stuff,” I laugh slightly, albeit awkwardly. I step away from the table and Shen follows closely. “I'll see you guys later at night, for poker.” The other three simply say 'later' or 'bye'.

Shen starts talking about how bad the potato mash was, and I contribute with a shudder at the reminder of it. As I exit the cafeteria with Shen by my side, my eyes meet someone's from across the room. The owner is scowling in my direction, and I turn away.

On the other end of the friendliness spectrum is Jordan Sunderland, the last member of Shen's team. He is the resident grump who thinks the idea of escorting is rubbish, and is outside of his line of duty. Hence, he spends most of his time with other squads and avoids interaction with me where possible. It is fine, since having to speak with the other members of the squad is already considered tall order on my social level. According to Shen, he's the explosives expert, which is pretty reflective of his nature.

“You know how to contact me, yeah,” Shen says and I nod, bidding him a goodbye as I enter my private quarters. Once the door closes, I shed the knee-length coat I have been wearing. One may question why I have to wear such a getup. The temperature of the ship is kept comfortably constant, and most people are fine with just a shirt and pants. However, I am not like most people.

My white room consists of a bed right next to a thickened glass window, allowing me to see space surrounding the carrier. A table is next to the head of of the bed, littered with books and pens. I enjoy writing, and it is a form of entertainment for me. Right next to the table, situated between it and the door to the bathroom, is a full length mirror.

A black appendage sticks out from under my shirt. It's long, around five foot in length excluding the tip. It is ridged, looking rather segmented with each piece. I move it like a limb as easily as I can with my hand, and I allow it to stretch out from where it has been curled around my hip and legs. Sitting makes it ache faster, and I stare in the mirror at the inhuman extension of my being; a remind of who I truly am.

My name is Hope Henderson, and I am nineteen years old. I have a father, Oakley Henderson, Commander of Espera Military Base, and a grandmother, Lina Auguste Henderson. They are not tied to me by blood, but they are family nevertheless, and I love them unconditionally... For they could also love a monster like me so.

I am not human; I am an Otromorph, an offspring between an alien species Xenomorph and a human who goes by the name of Arius O'Klein. Father had not withheld such information from me. He believed that I needed to know my roots to know where I stand; to know how to live. He told me... _everything_.

Nanna saw me no differently, and took uncountable measures to ensure that I was brought up well. She spent her days of retirement taking care of me, hoping that I grow up no different from other children. The only cost of such care was at the expense of my social relations and skills; I was only familiar with my tutors and the girl who lived next door. Alas, her family shifted when I was around ten, and I have not heard from her since.

Barring my physical outlook, my cognition was that of a human's. The only thing that can be considered inhuman is the odd buzzing in my head that occurs once in a while. I adorn a coat wherever I go to hide my appendage. Thankfully, the weather affects me little, and a coat in the blistering heat is a mere annoyance. I speak less, in order not reduce the chance of my words slipping. Instead, I learn to observe. I watch people's movements, read their body languages, and analyse the words they speak and the way they do so.

Humans are such interesting beings.

I am uncountable light years away from my home planet, Meteora. I am travelling to planet LV-808, nestled within the Canton space. Hyperion is a humongous civilian-military dropship, whose sister ships Eos, Helios and Selene flank, attached to the east, south, and western docks of the mother ship respectively.

Hyperion is a cargo ship that travels between spaces to bring people and resources around. Think of it as a space truck, stopping at several several planets to provide and receive both people and stocks. The ship is split into the civilian course, and the military wing. The latter takes up approximately fourty percent of Hyperion with the transportation of large military vehicles and weaponry, though I have yet to see it with my own eyes.

My presence on this ship is due to an invitation. No sender, but a mere message addressed to me in secret, left under my pillow and out of nanna's sight. I was given instructions to follow, should I wish to see my father. My adoptive parent, who has been missing for the past five years. It was the first time that I had finally receive knowledge of his existence. 

I told nanna straight away. Her first response was to be shocked that the message got to me. Someone must have snuck it into my room when we were both unaware. It was low, but it got her to admit hiding mails that had been addressed to me. From her room, she pulled put six different envelopes, all with only my first name on it. Inside, all the messages were the same as the one I received. She has been collecting these the moment I was known to have hit eighteen years old; the legal age of my own actions.

“I couldn't lose you too,” nanna started crying. I didn't want her to cry. I hugged her and told her that I understood her worry. But I knew what I had to do. If not for myself, at least for her; she only truly had a son left.

The next day, I left her a message, as cruel as it may seem. I wrote:  
  
_“I'm sorry. I did not want to leave you alone, but I promise, I will bring dad back. Love, Hope.”_  


 


	2. Chapter 2

The Hyperion lands on LV-808 approximateley twenty-six days after departing Meteora. The landing is surprisingly stable despite having to break through the planet's gravitational field. Once the announcement of our landing has been confirmed, Shen is already by my doorway with a large winter coat in hand. I raise a brow, but took the clothing regardless and wear it without question once I see that he has adorned one of his own.

“LV-808 is one of the lesser planets close to Meteora, and Espera Military Base works with its neighbours to establish a military site here for any known testings. Keeps the other populace safe. It snows two months a year, and hails for the other ten,” Shen introduces with a laugh. “All in all, it's just really cold.”

I let out a hum. “I take it this isn't your first time here?”

“Just once, but that was enough an experience that I promised myself to be ready. Thought I'd give you the heads up too.”

“Much appreciated,” I reply as I adjust the dark blue winter coat over my chest to zip up. It is comfortably light on my shoulders despite the poofyness, and the size was a perfect fit even over the fashion trench I always wear.

Rounding a corner, we meet the rest of the squad and to my surprise, the man who is constantly scowling my way is present. Sunderland decided to jerk his rifle's magazine into the slot right at the moment our eyes meet, and the loudness of it was thunderous to my hearing. Nevertheless, I keep my gaze firm, and he pulls away first as the others came up to me.

All of them are dressed in their military gear, fully equipped with body armor and all. I feel under-dressed in comparison to their get ups. Then again, I'm here as a civilian, not a soldier.

“Welcome to LV-808, home of the never ending cold,” Ignatius grins as he straightens up.

“Never uzed to be dis cold,” Walter grumbles. He holds out a white card attached to a lanyard. I take it to see a 'visitor' print right at the corner. “Dis iz your ID and ak-zess key to your room on baze. Ve will still ve around, but you may find yer on yer own sometimez.”

“Understood,” I reply. Shen gives an approving nod and takes us to the holding bay, which also happens to be the entrance to the vehicles in the military wing.

People are rushing back and forth with their tasks, making the surrounding a flurry of vehicles. Shen's squad is flanking me in nearly every direction I walk, with the former at the front, Iri and Ignatius to my left, and Walter and Sunderland to my right. They seem to be keeping a tight watch on me, and it is understandable. After all, I am about to walk straight into a military base which stores who-knows-what information.

The hangar's large double door opens with a groan and hiss, and instantly, the chill of the planet's wind gushed into the ship. I had to brace myself with a foot behind me in order not to slip. The time is around noon, but little light pours into the ship, as in this place is devoid of the sun. And it probably is, considering what the weather is like.

At the entryway, a group of ground forces are preparing to move in. They trot in in heavy gear, guns in their hands but not pointing. It is clear that they are escorting someone as they make way.

A man not the military gear but uniform steps up, oozing the aura of authority. His presence is intimidating, and his height of six foot over does little to help the image. A beret sits on his head, shielding most of his light brown hair. His pale blue eyes zoned in onto me, which isn't the least bit surprisingly. I do reflexively flinch under his gaze.

He walks up in confident strides, taking a stop two feet in front of me.

“I am General Rolandsson. Sture Rolandsson I am the person in charge of this military base,” this man, General Rolandsson, smiles with a hand out. I hesitate touching him, and he can tell so. He laughs as he retreats. “It is nice to meet you, Mr. Henderson. You took a while to respond; I was beginning to wonder if my messages were even getting to you.”

“I had to wrap things up at home before leaving. It never hurts to be prepared, after all.” I lower my chin and fleetingly meets his downward gaze. “And just call me Hope, thanks.”

“As you wish, Hope,” Rolandsson nods. He raises a hand and flicked two fingers, signalling his men to go ahead with whatever they were supposed to do. I watch as they completely ignore my presence, heading for the deeper parts of the hangar to help unload.

“General,” Shen greets with a fist to his chest, and Rolandsson nods in acknowledgement. The rest of the team does the same and said general tells them to be at ease.

“Come, Hope. I have important news to break to you, and this is not an appropriate place for such,” Rolandsson turns around and starts for the entryway. “Squadron, to your duties. I can take it from here.”

“Yes, sir!” The escort team of mine answer and I felt my chest tighten a little. I will be in an unfamiliar place without a person I know. For nearly a month I had hung out with Shen's team, and although no close bonds were established, I had come to enjoy their company though it took time to get used to.

Here, at whatever base this is, without the knowledge of anything of the people and the land, I am anxious.

“Wait, can one of them follow me.” I say quickly. It isn't even a question anymore, from the way I put it, and Rolandsson instantly stops in his tracks. He turns to look over his shoulder. I am sure he had narrowed his gaze, but it is quickly being replaced with a gracious smile.

“Of course. You're unsure of this place, I understand. In that case, feel free request an escort.”

The first name that pops into my head is Shen and I am about to blurt it when someone interrupts me: “I'll go, sir.”

My head whips to the direction of the speaker, unable to contain my surprise. Of all members, it is Sunderland who offers first. The one person who has been wishing I didn't exist is suddenly volunteering to be my escort. My invisible hackles raise when I feel that there is intention.

“The captain will be busy leading the resource transfer. Out of all of us, I am the most familiar with Deylah's Faith.” Sunderland takes his position next to me, but ignores me when I glance up to him. This is the first time in the entire month of knowing him that he stands so close.

There is a brief look of disdain but Rolandsson says 'alright' and proceeds to exit the hangar. Sunderland starts walking too, and when we are earshot out of the rest of the team, he growls out low: “I'm only doing this because I don't like to do hard labour.”

I hold back a snort. Figures he'll try to take the easy way out. If that's the case, the rest of the team must be helping carry or move stuff from Hyperion to... what is this place called again? Deylah's Faith?

What an odd name for a military base.

As we walk, I take the chance to consider my surroundings. The cold is evident, but cool on my skin. It's comfortable, like being wrapped up in a blanket in an air conditioned room. The winter coat helps for sure. I open my palms to receive the snow from the skies. Must be that season of the 'two months'. Surprisingly, the air is not dry but fresh and clean, pleasant to my lungs.

Looking around, I seem to be within Deylah's Faith itself as I can see several bunker buildings lit by overhead lights. It's not pitch black, but dark enough that it requires lights even around noon. Night must be a lot darker.

Many soldiers are patrolling the place, with some guarding doorways leading to who knows where. In the further distance, high walls are equipped with barbed wires at the peak, and the guard towers have turrets. I have to raise a brow at this. Are they trying to keep something out...? But there were also turrets facing _in_.

“Hey brat, keep up!” I hear Sunderland snap and I realise that I have been standing still to scrutinise the environment. I move my feet, crushing the snow with combat boots (I was given clothing at the start of the expedition), catching up to the brunette who seems to constantly have a stick up his arse.

By the time I catch up, Rolandsson is entering the largest building of the facility. From where I am, I can't tell the actual size but it seems pretty huge. Our final destination is a meeting room that can fit about twelve participants. I enter second, and Rolandsson intercepts Sunderland's entry.

“This is confidential. You'll have to wait outside.”

Sunderland grunts but gives a 'yes, sir', and stands out at the door way as if he is guarding the room. I give him a look of underlying pity and enter the room proper. The door closes with a sliding metal door and Rolandsson signals for me to take a seat. I only do so only after he does.

“As you know we've been trying to contact you for about half a year now. Because of the nature of the content, it can only be disclosed to you here.”

“Cut the chase. What happened to my father?” I ask bluntly. “The message you've sent just says 'If you wish to see your father, please report to Espera Military Base asap.'.”

Rolandsson gives one of his smiles and my brows furrow.

“Deylah's Faith is not a place well known to many. Your father has been one of the specially chosen personnel from Meteora to join us. It is a privilege, you see, but the cost of it is that he is disallowed to have any contact with his family back home. Hence, his absence. And of course, we cannot disclose any information in a written or verbal manner, thus we could only hope that you'll accept the unclear invitation.”

Rolandsson fiddles with a digital pad he takes from the meeting table and starts clicking on it. “About half a year ago, your father has fallen gravely ill and that is when we begun sending you the messages. It was unclear if he could make it and one of his dying wishes, should the misfortune ever happen, is to see you before he goes. We take the requests of our soldiers very seriously, you see.”

I freeze as I take time to digest the words, and the realisation hits me. My chest tightens within its cage, and my hands clench into fists. I have to chew on my lip to stop the swelling ache in my core from stinging my eyes.

“So dad's...?”

“I am sorry to inform you that he did not make it two months ago. I do not wish to sounds harsh, but I'll have to be truthful. Bio-waste has to be cleared immediately in order for diseases not to spread. I cannot show you his body otherwise... Which leads me to his other words,” Rolandsson clicks something on the digital pad and a voice is being played.

Instantly, I recognise it as Oakley's, my adoptive father's. His familiar voice fills my ears and I perk up as the sense of loss fades for a second.

 _“I want Hope to be here!”_ And the message cuts. Father's words were strong, passionate, like he mean it so.

My chin drops as my body quivers in the aftermath of the news. Both of them. Father's gone, which means I have failed to keep my promise to nanna. On the other hand, father wishes for my presence here.

Silently, I am already apologising as my chest swells with anguish.  
  
“As per Commander Henderson's request, we are giving you an opportunity to be here in Deylah's Faith, to assist us in your father's place.”

My eyes raise to meet Rolandsson's straight on as I give my answer without hesitation.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini cliffhanger? There's more than what meets the eye, I assure you. 
> 
> Just hang on with Hope :) He's our socially awkward baby


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you sure, Hope?” The fact that he asks this question makes my hackles rise. I have given my answer. I want to do nothing more than to leave Deylah's Faith and return home to my grandmother's side. If father... Oakley, has truly passed on, I have no further reason to be here. I am cannot even bring myself to upset to know that I have wasted a month just to receive such news.

My mind just doesn't want to deal with this anymore. I just want to go _home_.

“I'll have to kindly reject the offer.”

He's not taking 'no' for an answer.

“This is a very big chance for you follow your father’s footsteps,” the general’s insisting tone makes the hair on my neck prickle. The one thing nanna has always told me to do is to trust my instincts.

I know that this is a trap of some sort. Father was relentless when he drilled the fact that people out there will be out to get me someday for their own selfish reasons. Reasons that extends past ethics and human rationale.

Rolandsson will be no different. Anyone on this base - _Deylah’s Faith_ \- is an enemy to me.

 _Everyone_ is.

I stand.

“You’re making a grave mistake if some amateur move like this would make me remain here, general,” I growl. It’s insulting that they had resorted to such a child’s play to lure me in and try to make me stay. It’s even more frustrating to know that I let it happen in desperation of my own whims. It's all such a big mistake.

“Let’s just say I underestimated your abilities.” Rolandsson remains in his seat as he casually adjusts the accessory on top of his head. He meets my eyes dead on and I feel the instant threat in them. A smile that does not reach his eyes.

“Let's not beat around the bush, then, shall we? What exactly do you want from me, javing made me travel lights years all the way down here for my father, only to found out that he's dead? What happened to him anyway?”

“I told you, he was unwell. An... illness overtook his body, and he was too weak to fight it any longer. He succumbed to it eventually.”

I do not miss the heartbeat's moment where he has to think of another word to phrase his lines. Something's amiss, and I need to know what.

“What exactly are you planning to do? Oakley has spoken of Espera Military Base working rather intimately with Weyland for the past two decades or so. This has something to do with my real father, doesn’t it?”

“I'm surprised he chose to tell you everything. Most parents wouldn't in order to ah, 'keep their children safe'. Can't say that I find his unnecessary prattling useful at this point.”

Is this guy trying to insult Oakley? He has done nothing but treated me like his own, and gave in his all to a child who isn't even his. The Hendersons are a god send to be taking care of someone like _me_.

“Arius O’Klein is an important asset to us, but what he had left behind is far more precious. We couldn’t risk having any other rival companies swiping the treasure that is rightfully ours,” he replies as-a-matter-of-fact. I do not care for the fact that he treats me as on object. Instead makes my blood boil at the way he treats my kin like an object. Arius _is_ still human, and he fair well should be treated like one, dead or not.

It isn’t his fault that he was sourced out because of his abilities. It isn’t his fault that the fundamentals of nature in dependency crept up and cause his situation. It isn’t his fault that he was shot and killed by _this_ person before me.

Nanna has always been an advocate of peace. She lives her life saving people, even those who didn't deserve it. She tells me to forgive, and to be kind for others need it so. Her own kindness is what grounds me, but it seems like it can work no longer. I never want to hurt another person. I do not wish to give in to the side that tells me it is natural to do so – the thought that killing is justified as I am a predator.

Today shall be one of those days I decide that it's not worth staying human.

“I know everything, Sture Rolandsson,” I snarl, taking a step from the table and towards the man sitting at the table end, four chairs away. “I know how Arius was being treated unkindly despite doing his job. A job that you had assigned him to, and not only did you not appreciate his efforts, you took _everything_ from him.”

“In my honest defense, the only thing I took from him was his life,” Rolandsson muses and I seeth. He's taking this conversation like a child's fairytale, amusing and not with a pinch of seriousness. “I do regret, just a little. He would definitely be more useful alive where we could study his physiology. Take parts from him little, by little...”

Enough is enough, and I lunge for the man with an angry shout. My fingers nearly reach him when Rolandsson's hand intercepts. He moves, faster than my eyes can register – his crafty slip-away from my grip and reversing it easily. There isn't even time for me to attempt to wriggle out of the vice when I get pulled to the table.

Somehow, he manages to slam me on the table with a hand around the back of my neck, and pushes me down without difficulty. Instantly, I choke at the angle the neck is not meant to be in, and my nails reach up scrabble at his skin on the back of his hand. He growls out in either pain or anger (I can't tell), but doesn't relent in his hold.

I feel like some sort of dog being scruffed and forced to heel. The determination of refusing to give up makes me struggle even more as I jerk my body up, trying to throw Rolandsson off. It doesn't work as a combination of his weight and strength continues to have me pinned down.

Father had taught me how to fight, but this was completely from what I can remember. I am not against my parent who takes precaution when sparring – I am picking a fight with a person of high military ranking, properly trained in combat. A person who will not hesitate to use violence against me.

I hear Rolandsson rustling between his clothing and I panic. The first thought that crosses my mind is 'gun'. I struggle even further, hands splayed on the table to try and push myself off, but this man is ridiculously strong.

It scares me to know that I cannot win., thus I have no choice. I have to use the asset which is the strongest part of me.

Rolandsson lets out a sharp cry when I slam my tail into him sideways. It catches him around the arm, and it's a pity that I miss his head. The moment his weight lifts, I can finally breathe properly and I hold onto my neck, quickly the general within my sights as I scoot further away from the dangerous individual. He has toppled to the side, barely saving himself from delivering a kiss to the floor as he hangs onto the back of one of the chairs.

“So you did end up with genetics of the Xenomorph,” he hums as his eyes shift to view the object behind me. My tail has unwrapped itself from its usual hiding spot and is now raised high from under my trench coat, barbed tip pointing in his direction in a threatening manner .

I grit my teeth as my tail swishes angrily, conscious that someone else unworthy gets to see the physical side of me I have hidden for a decade.

“He was right. You did evolve,” Rolandsson says as raises a hand. I cock my head at the action a little, wondering what it's supposed to mean.

And who is ' _h_ e'?

As if on cue, the door to the meeting room hisses and my attention wavers to the entry way where three armor-clad soldiers are. I growl at them as they raise machine guns in my direction. Apparently, they are merely there to serve as a distraction, because a sharp jab catches me in the neck.

I yelp as I reach for it, tugging off and scrutinising it on my palm. It seems to be a dart. It's small, no bigger than a medical pill, but a needle attaches to one of the ends. My eyes fleetingly catch a small device in Rolandsson's hand, likely the cause of this object being embedded in me.

A sleep dart. _Son of a-_

My vision starts to swim, making the room spin as the drug starts to take effect. Noise fades to dullness for my hearing and I can't control my limbs properly. They fail to catch the chair when I collapse to the ground on my side. All I can see are the legs of humans and furniture before my being succumbs to the darkness.

——

_Why?_

Why what?

_Why did you come?_

Where did I go?

_You came here._

Is it bad?

 _You shouldn't have._  
  
\-----

My mind’s a haze when I wake, and I regret it instantly. A shooting pain mentally scars me and I wish that I can go back to sleep. I want to reach for my head, but my body doesn’t move even when I order it to.

“I can’t believe you. It’s not even half an hour and you’ve managed to get your ass hauled behind bars. Are you fucking stupid, kid?”

I can count the number of times I’ve heard this voice on a single hand. Hearing it now, it sounds even more taunting and downright annoying.

“I don’t need a lazy asshole to give me a lecture,” I growl out even whilst my eyes are back to being closed, albeit weakly as the remnants of the drug takes longer than I hope for to wear off.

“So, kitty does have a bite,” Sunderland muse wherever he is.

When I can finally open my eyes without my vision causing a headache, I glare the best I can muster - even if his crouched body is horizontal to my view looks stupid and comical in my vision. Sunderland is behind bars. Or to be exact, I am. We're in a small room surrounding by metal walls, and the soldier is leaning against the one at the opposite end furthest away from me. To my left on the other side of the bars is a door with a small glass window. Guess this is an actual holding cell.

My attention returns to Sunderland when he speaks: “I was wondering when your little cool-kid persona was going to drop.”

The urge to punch his face is very big. Better yet, spear his face with my tail because it takes less effort. I ignore his words as I try to figure out how to move my hands without my feet being activated along the way. My head's a complete mess when it comes to coordination.

“How are you feeling, kid?”

“Like a truck decided to run me ten times over.”

He laughs. “Trust me, you wouldn’t be speaking like this if something like that really happened.”

“So why are you speaking then? Are you here to interrogate or make fun of me before my guts get removed for the benefit of science?” I barely push myself up on my elbows. They are still weak as hell, and shake at every attempt that I try to straighten them. “I'll kill all of you even before you can touch me, I swear on it.”

To my surprise, Sunderland does not retort but falls silent instead. I peer at him, and there is a firm look on his face, as if he is taking in my words carefully. Seriously, even.

“None of that,” he replies after a while, soft all of a sudden. He approaches the bars and I am on my feet instantly. There is a slightly waver, but my fight or flight reflex kicks in too much to care. I growl in warning, before stopping abruptly. Upon this, I have to look away. I need to cease acting like an animal for god’s sake.

It does take a moment of pin-drop silence before Sunderland chooses to continue: “I'm just glad I get to see you what you truly are.”

At this, I have to snap my gaze back to the other. I cannot help that my eyes are wide open in confusion, wondering what he is referring to. Out of the corner of my eyes, something black catches my attention and I freeze when I realise that my tail is out in plain sight.

My coats, both the winter and the trench are gone and there is nothing to hide it. I did not even realise so as the cold does not affect as me much.

Letting out a full on snarl again, I back away from the other man as my tail curls around my thighs defensively.

“Relax,” he sighs out.

“And how do you expect me to do that when you're going to keep staring at it like it's- I don't know, _alien_ or something?”

Sunderland has the nerves to quirk an eyebrow and belatedly, I realise how stupid I sound using such an analogy. It is, in fact alien, and I felt my cheeks heat in embrassment. Even if Sunderland notices it, he makes no indication.

“But it has always been uncomfortable for you when you keep it curled like that, no?”

“That's-” True. It's undeniable that having to keep my tail in a position it's not meant to be in is in fact more than just uncomfortable. It is tiring, aching and painful to maintain in such a position. It ends up being a draining task, and admittingly, it does affect my walking gait a little.

“Relax,” the same word repeats from the other and I frown.

Nevertheless, I heed the suggestion this time. I shift my tail, making it uncoil from the level just above my knees. I stretch it out, feeling the base of my spine loosen and I can almost groan in relief as it settles in a more natural position. The best feeling is to actually let it drag behind me, which I always do at home.

I let it drop to the floor gently, but the floor is too cold for my liking and there is no carpet unlike home. It'll hurt dragging it over the uneven flooring, and I let my tail twitch back upwards, letting the barb tip suspend upright.

“You're like some cat,” I hear a remark, and the focus switches to Sunderland. To express my annoyance, I hiss at him, and my tail flicks through the air. I pause.

I _really_ need to stop acting more than human.

“Look, just leave-”

The hissing of the metal doors catches both our attentions and we both look over. Shen steps in and I perk up, only to remember that my tail is in plain sight. Feeling self conscious, I drop my tail lower the ground and the ends curl near my ankle without touching the cold floor.

“Ah, Hope you're awake. Jordan, I thought I told you to inform me when he did,” Shen scolds slightly as he walks over. I back away as he approaches. 

Though Shen is the first person I made friends the moment I stepped into Espera Military Base, whatever has happened for the day makes me cautious of him. 

“I was just trying to see if his tail works like we know it,” said person shrugs. Sunderland turns to me and crosses his arms. His demeanor changes entirely once Shen appears, and I scowl at him. He's like some two-faced bastard, taunting and teasing me when no one's around, but becomes all soldier-like and professional once his leader steps in.

“It _works_ , alright. We've screened the camera in the meeting room. It was a close call... Hope, what were you thinking, attacking the general?” The mixed oriental sighs out. “He could have given you a better life outside of these bars if only you'd perhaps, listen to his offer.”

“You're telling me to willingly be a lab rat so that I can _live_ better.” I rephrase with evident sarcasm. It's such a laughable joke.

“All he wants is to be able to work with you-”

“What's the catch?” I interrupt.

“Pardon?”

“Rolandsson wants me here for a reason. Based on what my father's told me, it's clear they're after the Xenomorph genetics residing within me. Arius is dead, that is for sure. But what he wants is a living, breathing body to work on, doesn't he? And you're here to be the dog running his errands for him.”

Dark eyes fixate on mine, and a soft voice drawls: “... You're a lot different from when we interacted on Hyperion.”

Without warning, I lunge forward, half-slamming and grabbing the bars hard enough that they rattle in their wakes. It causes both Shen and Sunderland to be taken aback, and I can see the both of them reaching for their hips in reflex. Guns, mostly likely, judging by the hands hovering over the black holsters. Undeniably still a large threat to my being, but I do not believe that either will dare to shoot me. Not yet, anyway, so I bare my teeth at them.

“You took me away from home using the slyest of reasons only to tell me that my father is gone. Rolandsson provokes me by insulting not one, but both my dead parents. If you think that my personality is a big issue, boy do I have news for you,” I snarl, and the tone of it is _far_ from human.

There is no longer a need for me to hide the other half of myself. The quiet, seemingly shy, conservative and unsocial part of me is not a far stretch. It's not even a lie to begin with. Yet, if the Xenomorph part of me what they seek, then I have no qualms about expressing that part of me so. I'll let them see what I am truly made up of.

The sharp, barbed tip of my tail strikes at the wall next to me in replacement of a punch. The alien appendage of mine has always been the strongest; its strength is not limited by human physique. It pierces through the metal easily like a knife through a cake.

I see the wariness and fear in the eyes of the two humans before me, and I cock my head back proudly.

“Tell Rolandsson that I'll take up his pathetic offer. Ultimately, he can get what he wants which is my cooperation, but it will be given only under the conditions that _I_ give.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention Hope has a queen-complex? He does. He won't take anything from anyone except his family. But he's a little cocky and thinks big like many kids his age do. Y'know, the typical teenage rebel haha. He IS still human after all. 
> 
> For his physical details, his human body is well, human. He does not posses unusual strength or speed, so he is just about as much as an average teen his age. His tail, however, is fitted with the same capabilities as a normal Xenomorph. From the movies we see it able to damage cement walls and such, so this is not a far cry from what Hope can do. So if there's anything that's considered remotely dangerous about him, it's his tail. Lock it down though, and he's like any normal kid. Bits and pieces of his Xeno quirks will be found out slowly~
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, because we're taking a rather bizarre twist!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our emotional baby is back :) It takes him a while to crash and burn.

Shen and Sunderland leave after my violent outburst, presumably to find Rolandsson. I spend the time poking around the cell, observing the boring ceiling and the structures around the bare room. There is a suspended bed and a chair. Nothing more. Temperature-wise, it seems less cold than the exterior. Must've been due to some heating mechanism throughout the base. 

I take the chance to observe the hole in the wall my tail punctured. The metal is indented inwards like a flower in reverse-bloom, and I wince at the memory of how strong my inhuman appendage is. I've never used it this way before. I had been angry, and I didn't think twice when I struck the wall. I know of the strength my tail possesses, but this is unexpected.

It is always bizarre for me to move the parts of me that humans do not have; even weirder to actually use it. At the same time, it comes almost naturally like moving my fingers.

My attention is stolen when the door hisses open sideways, and Shen appears without the grouch. In the hands of the soldier is my trench coat and I take it gladly when he offers it through the bars. There isn't any hint of caution in his eyes as I wear my coat, and he speaks:  
  
“General Rolandsson will discuss the terms with you, but before we leave, I'm going to have to cuff you.”

I snort.

“I won't hurt you if you don't try to hurt me,” I say as-a-matter-of-fact. “I'm at least given the liberty of self-defense; you saw it in the video when they decided to stick a needle or point a gun in my direction.”

“I understand. Think of it as a measure for your safety. The men aren't likely to point a gun at you when you're restrained.” I raise a brow, but his smile doesn't falter. “Turn around, please.”

Groaning, I do as told, placing my hands at the small of my back, touching at the wrists. Shen gives a moment's hesitation, and I peer over to see him eyeing my tail. I twitch it a little in annoyance before dropping it slightly, and I hear a soft apology while cold metal presses against my skin. He activates something and I jump slightly when I hear the hiss of some kind of a lock mechanism. I try to look over, but it's futile. Naturally, I test it slightly, finding myself weak against what seems to be sturdy magnetic bonds.

A beep noise alerts me to the gates of the cell opening and I step out. Shen gives me a warm smile, glad that I'm not behind bars.

I raise a brow. “What about this?” I ask as my tail twitches to make my point. The deadliest part of me is still roaming free.

“You said you wouldn't hurt me if I didn't do anything to you. I'm holding you to your words,” Shen replies calmly despite his eyes on the extra appendage. He is completely relaxed, and he turns his back to me, beckoning me to follow. I heed without question.

Before stepping outside the cell room, I take in the sight of the surroundings outside the room I had been locked in. Several doors like the one I'm in lines the corridor, and it must've been the detention block of some sort. The walls are cold-looking, metal with rows of blue luminous glowing that lights the corridors. A gloomy atmosphere lingers in the air and I hesitate stepping out.

“Getting cold feet?” Shen muses from the side as he observes my expression. “Don't be scared.”

I roll my eyes at his playful tone and finally got my feet to move. I follow the squad leader closely, keeping my senses alert. It is awfully quiet, maybe due to the soundproof structure. Only our footsteps can be heard in the long, straight walkway. When we exit the block, the atmosphere lets up and I see the rest of the squad standing at a cross junction. Sunderland's there too, with his usual sulky face.

“Hey kid!” Lawson waves, and I would have returned the gesture if it isn't for my bound hands. “You've got yourself into a sticky situation mighty quickly.”

I snort. “Tell me something new, please.” Lawson just _giggles_. I don't know if I should feel insulted.

“Alright, we can have a conversation later. Let's head to the halls. The general is waiting for us,” Shen interrupts slightly and takes point. I follow as the rest do, flanking me as they had once done when we exited the Hyperion.

As we proceed through Deylah's Faith, we walk past several other soldiers who barely give me presence attention. They don't even seem to regard me with a single glance. Not that I mind much, but it makes me realise that none of the people were surprised at the sight of my tail. It's as if they're _used_ to seeing such a thing.

Even before I can raise the question of my curiosity, we reach our destination. The metal door slides open, and a big empty room greets us. I'm being ushered in, and I take a good look at the interior. Not only are there cameras, but small turrets are situated at the upper corners of the room. It makes my hackles raise at the sight of the weapons.

Sture enters the room around a minute later with two guards flanking him, guns ready to go. I ignore them as they are of little importance as I meet the commander's gaze head on. He takes in the sight of me, and my tail suspends in the air, swishing in a slow manner behind my back. Waiting, anticipating.

“I believe it was mentioned that you are willing to stay and cooperate under... certain conditions?” The commander starts and I cocked my head to the side.

“Yes,” I reply as I straighten up, and my tail imitates the posture by hovering near my head. Just the mere movement and I can see the guards stiffening where they are, but it doesn't affect the general or the squad. “What you want is in my blood, isn't it? You can have it under the condition that I get to leave Deylah's Faith, unharmed in a month's time. That's sufficient, isn't it?”

There is a pause, and I catch Shen shifting on his feet, uneasy. Sunderland by his side merely finds something interesting to stare on the wall. Sture just peers in my direction.

“What?” I half-growl out, impatient at the silence.

The General clears his throat. “The Hyperion fleet has no fixed schedule. It docks approximately once every three to four months, but that is only under the circumstances that it is not being delayed. I cannot guarantee how long you'd end up staying, but alright. I will see to it that you board the Hyperion back to Meteora without question upon her next landing.”

It will have to do.

“One more thing,” I added quickly. “Apart from blood-drawing, I forbid any other invasive treatments. Anything that I feel is remotely threatening to me means that I get to retaliate, got it?”

“The Omikron Squadron will supervise you as they always had since Meteora. The same rules apply; if you pose a threat to any personnel on Deylah's Faith, you will be both restrained and detained.”

Guess I have to keep my tail to myself.

 

\---------------  
  
“Why the hell are you here,” I growl out at the taller male, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. Jordan fucking Sunderland is strolling around the room I am supposedly given. He sits on one of the two beds there are in here, and it is evident that this is his lodge judging by the items on the dresser. Symmetrically, another bed and dresser is available without any ownership, meant to be mine

“Someone has to watch your tiny ass around here from causing a mess,” he snorts as he crosses his arms over his chest.

I gasp out a near inaudible _'tiny!?'_ before stepping away from the door to go inside. It shuts close automatically and and I stand before the militarian, mimicking his stance. “Couldn't Shen be it?”

“Cap's got another person in his cabin, and he has tasks more important than baby sitting,” Sunderland starts peeling his top.

“H-Hey!” I stutter as I looked away, feeling my face turn a little warm from the sudden exhibition. From the corner of my eyes, I am sure the other tossed a raised eyebrow in my direction.

“Never seen a little skin before, brat?” Came a taunting sneer. Something in me that has been bubbling since the talk with Sture decides to pop and release the floodgates of emotions.

“Well, sorry for being sheltered in my home for the past nineteen years of my life. I can't exactly waltz out to the street knowing that there is a risk of myself being exposed,” I snap angrily, feeling soreness in my chest. I find my bag on the bed and start to unload my clothing out of it with careless tossing. “So yeah, I'm a socially stunted _brat_ with an attitude no one would ever understand because they aren't me and they aren't a walking monstrosity.”

“Hey-” Sunderland spoke lightly, the first word I've ever heard that isn't laced with sarcasm or nonchalance, but I choose to ignore it.

“I'm here, stuck on this god forsaken ice berg, a hundred thousand miles from home from my grandma. And I get to find out that my dad died to some goddamn 'illness'.”

Something is causing my chest to ache and I try to suppress it, but it isn't working too well.

“Hey, calm down.”

“Don't tell me to calm down!” I shove my empty bag to the side. “I'm stuck here for months on end with scientists who want to poke and prod me like cattle.” A hand grabs my shoulder and I smack it away. “I didn't ask for any of this. Not for Arius, not for Oakley and definitely not for Lina. Right now, I just want to go home because everything here sucks and no one's going to care about what happens to me here!”

“Hope!”  
  
“What!” My name finally catches my full attention and I turn to Sunderland with my teeth bared. That is when a soft hiccup escapes my throat, and subsequently something wet trickles down my face.  
  
Sweat? But it isn't the least bit warm in here.

All of a sudden, calloused digits wrap around my neck and I am being pulled forward by it. My entire body seizes up upon the grip and I crash into Sunderland. I reflexively grab his undershirt to stabilise my footing. This closely, I can smell his standard-issued black undershirt, and it has a typical male musk attached to it. It's horribly appealing.

Yet, it is that very manner that he holds onto me that causes the swelling in my chest to burst. The embrace reminds me of home, the place I miss so, so much right now – the smell of another person so close, an embrace that grounds me and reminds me that I'm _human_. A form of physical affection that shows that they – _Oakley and Lina –_ loved me for whatever I am.

Christ, the wetness on my cheeks are from tears, I realise. I don't think I've ever truly cried since the day I stopped wearing diapers or something.

“Jesus, you're really just a kid, aren't you,” he seethes out. He's back to being his obnoxious character and I try to push him away, but hell, he resembles a brick wall and doesn't give. “I wasn't trying to push you or anything.”

I sniffle, never once giving up on trying to shove this dumb beefstick away. “Well you weren't exactly being subtle about it.”

“You were reading too far into it,” Sunderland counters. My face scrunches up.

Well, I suppose he has a point there. I did personally think that he was attacking my non-existent social level.

I give one final push and he finally steps away. But those calloused digits are still wrapping around my neck, surprisingly comforting rather than threatening.

I glare up at him.

“I don't expect you to understand.”

“And I probably never will, so what? You gonna turn all pitiful on me? Just hours back I had to deal with a snarky kid who didn't even know the meaning of authority, so what's changing now?”

I look away and pout. My sulking's beginning, and I can't help it. Sunderland just sighs as he releases his hands from my self.

“Go take a shower and sleep it off,” he says, and it sounds like some order. “Also, it would be nice if you could release my leg. Blood circulation's getting cut.”

My eyebrows furrow a little, wondering what he had meant and I glance down. To my horror, my tail had snaked around his limb without my knowing. I instantly let him go as my cheeks flush a shade of red. Without another word, I grab the clothing I need and dive for the bathroom. I don't even bother to close the door gently and slam it shut.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi sorry for the 6 month of in-activeness. I am back! Done with my school stuff for good so expect the story to be readily updated! Thank you for all the support thus far!
> 
> On that note, I've managed to collect two xeno figurines, one of a drone which I called Spike, and a Queen, whose name is Qreesa *hinthint* 
> 
> Book wise, I'm thrilled to have the omnibus 1, 3, 4, 5, Invasion, Sea of sorrows (part of omnibus book 2), a short story collection Bug Hunt, and two of the official comic books from Dark horse 30th anniversary comic, as well as the nightmare asylum/earth war comic book. Look at all these references to go through!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say we're getting the ball rolling again! Here's a quick update before we dive further into the secrets of Deylah's Faith.

I am angry, and I am just as sad. I suppose during my entire lifetime before putting myself on a space shuttle had been strangely peaceful and uneventful. I never knew that I had such a volatile side because nothing before this would remotely tick me off. Well, maybe one thing.  
  
The dog five blocks down, a Rotty, would always bark when I walk by. I would actually get upset because all I'd want to do it was pet it. Lina told me guard dogs aren't meant to let strangers near their home. It was their duty to guard their family members and keep them safe. She said dogs had a special sense that could tell when a person was bad or had bad intentions.  
  
I may potentially have my own, too.  
  
It is only in solitude that the world seems to stand still. Everything that had happened since my disembarkation from the Hyperion hit me then: the news, the detaining, the offer I was given and had accepted thoughtlessly...  
  
Am I regretting now? Perhaps, but that is another matter to mull over.  
  
Now, it's Oakley's death that delivers the repeated blow to my chest.  
  
I'm not crying. At least, I can't tell if I am because the running water washes away everything. I sit at the corner of the bathroom stall, letting the warm water patter down on my naked self. My tail curls around my body; my only source of comfort. My face buries itself between crossed arms, resting on bent knees. It's by far the position that makes me feel the safest. I adopt the position often when left home alone, and has become my form of comfort.

I hope nanna's doing alright. Maybe I can find a way to contact her.

When I leave the bathroom, the lights were dim and Sunderland has his pillow over his face. I tuck myself into the bed, under the covers, facing the wall and close my eyes. 

  
\-----------  
  
_Leave._

But I can't.  
  
_Don't believe them._

 Who are you?

_... I don't know._

 

\-----------  
  
“Morning, Hope. How are you feeling?” Shen greets politely at my room's doorway. Behind, Sunderland simply brushes past me without a word and I scowl at the man who pretended that nothing happened. 

“Absolutely fantastic,” I reply sarcastically. “This person here had literally unrolled me off my bed by taking my blanket.”

Behind Shen, Lawson laughs, but Olkeys and Hersdale don't give much of a response.

“Brat's wrapped up tighter than a californian roll,” Sunderland snorts.

“It makes me feel secure, okay,” I grumbled as I wrap the winter coat around my body closer. My tail has been wrapped around its usual spot underneath. “So sue me.”

Shen just shakes his head and leads the squad and myself to the cafeteria where breakfast is served. Upon entering, several eyes of other militarians are cast over. I freeze.

“Come on, git a movin',” Olkeys ushers and I follow the squad leader closely, keeping my head slightly lowered. I'm the only one in civvies. Even the chefs were dressed in military issue. Eventually, everyone minds their own business and I relax.

Everyone is given a plate of their own with a generous serve of bacon, eggs and toast. A simple, casual breakfast, but I am thoroughly surprised that there is even such supplies out here.

“Your first stop's Amy Marinez's lab,” Shen states after everyone sits down with their trays. “She's the Xenologist in charge of you. She works independently, so you don't have to worry about assistants and things like that.”

“Xeno... logist?” I repeat after swallowing a mouthful of food. Oddly enough, for something that's from a cafeteria feeding hundreds of people, the food is decent. Definitely better than whoever was working as chef on the Hyperion.

“She's been learning about the species after obtaining her masters in animal biology. She was recruited here, and her expertise has been with Xenomorphs since.”  
  
“Juz one of em mad scientiz'ez,” Okleys says through a mouthful of food. He swallows and swings his fork around. “Lotza nazty stuff goez round here.”

That is not a comforting thought. I find myself sulking again, poking at the wobbly yolk of the egg on my plate.

“Hey Shen,” I call out, and said person turns his attention to me. “Is there by any chance a way to... y'know, contact someone back at Meteora?”

Shen clears his throat. “There is, but it's extremely difficult as cross galaxy communication can be quite tricky. There are only small windows where the electromagnetic field in the atmosphere and outer space are suitable for linking communication. Take it like there's a row of ten satellites, and you have to catch a good timing where all these ten are not being obstructed by space debris.”

“Ah... okay...”

“Miss your grandma?” Lawson asks.

I nod.

“I'll see what I can do for you,” Shen says, and I thank him for it.

 

\----------------  
  
After breakfast, Sunderland escorts me to the other end of Deylah's Faith. We walk through the main corridors, and there isn't anything of much interest. I'm amused at the integral structure of the building is designed to go downwards rather than up, but it makes sense considering the weather LV-808 is constantly brewing.

We take the grated elevator down two floors, and I note that there are six floors, including the ground level. It's almost safe to assume that the lower the level, the higher the clearance requires.  
  
We enter a room that is a blinding contrast to the exterior. Inside, the whiteness is on par with the snow outside the base and is definitely shinier.

The lady in the clean, white room is middle-aged and about my height. Her black hair is tied in a high bun, well kept and out of her face. She wears a pair of red glasses, and even though she seems to have a little weight on her, the typical white laboratory coat looks good on her. She excitedly walks over in her red flats.

“Hope? Hope Henderson?” She questions.

I nod. I am about to open my mouth when she reaches over and grabs my hand, shaking it frantically.

“Nice to meet you! My name is Doctor Amy Marinez. I believe you've been informed on what you will be doing here, or shall I brief you again?”  
  
“'Again' would be nice.” Hearing what misfortune might befall my body once more won't make a difference, after all.

Amy nods and walks deeper into her (laboratory?) room, beckoning me to follow. I look over my shoulder and Sunderland merely stands at the doorway, arms crossed. I take it that he's not going to step foot inside and be on guard at the entrance.

I walk over to Amy's side where she stands next to a large machinery I've never seen before. She taps the large, cream coloured tubular machine that is lit with a blue hue on the inside. There's a whole bunch of buttons on the side that functions the machine. I have to lean over to look at the interior, and there is nothing but lights inside the tube.

“We'll be starting off with this, which is a bioscan. It's an advanced, non-invasive technology that allows your physical biometrics to be recorded. Every vessel, nerve, internal structures and such can be noted. The scan is so sensitive that it can pick up physical anomalies and defects that otherwise would have required multiple tests, such as a tumor,” she explains.

My face scrunches. She sees my facial expression and chuckles. “It won't hurt, I promise.”

She touches a button on the panel and the table extends out gradually. “I'll just need you to hop on the table and lie on your back for me.”

I shake my head. “Can't do that.”  
  
Amy's face contorts to a frown. “I'm sorry?”  
  
She might have been internally freaking out, because she is sure I had agreed to doing what they wanted.

I remove my coat and drop it to the floor. She stares in awe as my tail unfurls from its hiding spot. I grab the hem of my shirt and tug it off as she stares incredulously. I turn around.

“I can't lie on my back if it's a hard surface,” I explain.

“Oh my-” Amy is drawn in by the sight of my back. The entire vertebrae sticks out, at least two inches each at the tips. Oakley once said that the Xenomorph had prominent backbones that stuck out in an obvious manner. It is one physical trait similar, or adapted from the aliens.

“May I?”

At least she's a polite mad scientist.

I nod once, and I feel her fingers dragging along the tips of my bone. They aren't highly sharp or sensitive, but the touch does tickle my skin a little.

“This is simply amazing, I cannot believe how lucky I am to be able to work with you,” Amy sighs out happily and I feel my cheeks turn warm a little. I'm not used to such compliments. “Alright, we can definitely work around it. You can rest on your tummy and put your arms by your side.”

I proceed as told. Once ready, Amy tells me to relax. She activates the scan and the table re-enters the core. From where I lay, I hear the whirring of the machine doing its work. True to Amy's words, I feel nothing even as the light beams on every inch of my body. Beeping noises occur every other time, as if confirming that data has been collected.  
  
All I keep hearing is soft gasps of astonishment from the scientist. Should I be worried?

About ten minutes later, I'm sitting on the table and Amy's frantically scrolling through the data that has been sent to her tablet.

“Goodness me, I'll have to request that I do a bioscan on you every day. Your results are fascinating.”

“Anything that I should be concerned about? Do I have a tumour?”

Amy laughs behind her tablet.

“No, none of that. You're as healthy as a horse. Here, let me pull it up so that you can see it too,” Amy goes over to the large keyboard before a screen and starts pushing buttons. Next to the bioscan machine, Sunderland steps up, seemingly curious about what's going to appear on the screen.

The big screen has an obnoxious dark grey for a background, and the words flicker in green. Typical of a computer for general usage. It shows a percentage bar initially, and once fully loaded the supposed information from the bioscan appears. Words and data rapidly appear on the screen as tabs and I can understand none of this biology lingo.

“This is an amazing discovery, I dare say, Hope! Your biometrics, anatomical variation and your potential biochemical levels – Oh, I should stop myself from prattling on.” Amy pushes a button and everything seems to re-organise. We are left with what seems to be a bodily outline of my figure in detail, however in a vertical plane compared the the horizontal I had laid down in.

“This, this is what catches my attention the most,” Amy goes to the screen and zooms into a section around the upper half of my body. The outline of my body is in green, but there are other colours that cross-cross messily within my body, probably indicating some vascular structures. I try to decipher them, but to no avail. Her next line does have me freezing:  
  
“You have an inner jaw, don't you?”

My lips thin.

She is right about the bioscan being able to map out the body through whatever means it did. It's almost regretting for me to know that someone I don't quite trust will know about my body better than myself. Nevertheless, I nod.

“I thought so! Because, look at this area of your neck!” She points to the space right below my jawline on the computer-rendered image. She touches a function the screen, a pen of some sort, and circles at the spot diagonal to my ear. There, an image of a small object that seems lodged in my throat. “You're clearly lacking tonsils, which isn't too big a deal. Your inner jaw sits right behind your epiglottis, connecting straight to your oesphagus. Clearly, it doesn't affect your speech the least bit. Do you eat normally?”

“Yeah, I do. It doesn't spontaneously act up when I chew or swallow or anything.”

“Can you show me, please?”

I take a deep breath. It's not something I do often because it's not comfortable. However, I cannot refuse the anxious and expectant look on the woman's face and I may as well get over and done humoring her. I open my jaw slightly, keeping my eyes focused on a book on the table. Slowly, my pharyngeal jaw creeps out, bypassing the back of my mouth and effortlessly sliding over my tongue. It sticks out around five inches in length.

“Oh my- it's ebony too, exactly like a Xenomorph's!" She turns to her tablet and I retract my secondary jaw. “Do you have a gag reflex?” She asks without looking up.  
  
“A what?”

“Here, if you don't mind me trying something out?” She asks as she grabs a stick from a box on a side table. It resembles an ice-cream stick, but twice in width size. “Open your mouth please?”

I do as told, wondering what she's about to do with the apparatus.  
  
Then, something (I supposed the stick Amy's holding) touches the back of my throat and my head jerks forward in reflex as my throat reacts adversely. It feels like my stomach is about to heave my breakfast, but there is another reaction that takes place - my secondary jaw snaps out at the offending object and breaks it with a snap.

“Jeez!” Sunderland intercepts, and manages to pull Amy away in record time.

I recover from the sudden, unpleasant reaction and snarl at the doctor, teeth bared. My throat itches now, feeling very, _very_ ready to shoot out again and tear something off.

“I'm truly sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you,” Amy looks thoroughly shaken, and I see that the stick she's been holding is left to a mere inch. Any less, and it would have been her fingers.

“Is that what you were expecting?” I brush my mouth with the back of my hand where a slight trail of saliva has trickled, probably from the reaction before.

“Um, more than I had expected,” she picked up her tablet and starts typing something, avoiding eye contact with me. A slightly awkward silence descends in the room as I wait for her.

“Okay, I have recorded that you do have a pharyngeal reflex, and that it also activates your pharayngeal jaw.”

“Just don't try that again,” I scoff.

“Yes, for sure,” Amy gives a smile. The atmosphere eases up. “Alright, the next part of you I managed to analyse superficially is the anatomical deviation of your backbone and of course, your tail. It's quite obvious that your caudal nerves have hyper-developed way above humanly possible. It is parallel to, if not more adapted than a feline. All Xenomorphs have this feature.”

I curl my tail over my body to take a look at it. Shrugging, I let it fall back near the table. I've had complete control of it since I it started growing when I was six.

“Not sure how all these stuff about me's gonna help but yeah.”

“The collection of data allows us to understand what Xenomorph traits can be possible in humans, and vice-versa. There's been evidence that the root of the Xenomorph species has derived from human origins, so we're very bent on solving the evolutionary process. Think of it like how we ourselves may have evolved from Lucy.”

I raise a brow. “Lucy?” 

“Worry not, that's information from thousands of years back.”

Scientists and their weird lingo.

“Are there any other Xenomorphic traits we should know about? Acidic blood? Increased agility or strength?”

“Blood's normal, so you can use a syringe without it crumbling. I'm normal physically. The only thing that's not normal is my tail. Its strength is independent from my actual self.”

“No.... acidic... blood...” Amy continues recording the things I say, frantically typing on her tablet. “Likely to have a similar strength output in the tail, but unremarkable in the human aspect...”

“I hear things time to time,” I decide to mention. Not that anyone can help with it, anyway.

“Define 'things'.”

I shrug.

“Just _things_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed a clear(er) breakdown of how our little Hope is like :) 
> 
> Do remember to comment your thoughts <3 they motivate me heaps!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! A long update for ya'll because I'm going to be gone for a bit. We're giving a continuation to more stuff that lies within the bowels of Deylah's Faith, though we're currently only scratching the surface. More things will be revealed, so please do be patient as the story unfolds itself! It will be a series longer than the first story, so I hope you enjoy tagging along with me. If you thought Hope, the first story, was complex, wait til you see what's in store here PHEW!

It becomes a routine to be at Amy's lab after breakfast. It always starts off with the bioscan, followed by a blood drawing session every other day. She lets me off on the weekend, saying that she can spend it alone doing blood analysis of the samples taken over the week. The blood draws doesn't hurt, thankfully. She uses some sort of device similar to a lancet holder.  
  
During the times that I'm not being harassed by a machine or needle, or doing some awkward motor-sensory tests, I join the Omikron Squad in their own routines. These consist of repair work, delivery services to other levels, or combat regimes.

Repair works are boring, usually consist of fixing structures that could have been damaged due to weather or use. They don't let me touch electronics or softwares for obvious reasons, mostly because I'm not qualified to do either. I do watch Lawson work with the on-site medics for any accidents, and pick up a few first-aid skills along the way.

I generally stay out of Hersdale's way until one fine day, I come across her about to de-and-re-assemble a plasma rifle equipped with a side of pulse grenades. She can tell that I was keen on learning about the weapon, but she isn't able to verbally disclose the mechanisms behind it. However, no one said anything about it being illegal to watch. So I did, silently (I'm sure she slowed her task speed on purpose). It only takes me once to understand the internal housing of the pulse rifle.  
  
Combat regimes is what I enjoy most. At first, I wasn't allowed to partake in in, mostly because some high horse with a stick in his arse thought that it would be too dangerous. Somehow, Shen managed to strike a bargain that it would only be members of the Omikron squad who would actively spar with me and hold responsibility for their own injuries.  
  
Thus far, it has only been Shen and Olkeys that actively participate in kicking my butt. When we first sparred, Shen described me as having a form of a newborn fawn, though I begged to differ since Oakley had taught me some hand-to-hand when I was younger. I was proven wrong when my face was constantly being intimate with the floor.  
  
This occurrence is so normal that I spend half my time every training splayed on the training mats trying to catch my breath. Today, Olkeys is watching by the sidelines, arms crossed over his burly chest. He hasn't had his chance to send me to kingdom come, so I guess that's why he looks a little grumpy. No outlet.   
  
"Use your head and poise your form," Shen offers as he reaches his hand out. I take it and he tugs me back onto my feet. "From what I can observe, your physique is ideal for speed rather than strength. But in physics, you'd know that weight and velocity are your factors to your output. Your tail, for example."  
  
I peer over my shoulder where it is, curling and raising high. I've never used in during spars since there isn't a need to. Besides, I'm learning how to fight hand-to-hand, in the even that my tail doesn't work. Remembering how easily I was being subdued by Rolandsson weeks before is my motivation to get better.  
  
"I doubt your tail weighs too much, but from what I had seen before, it struck nearly at the same speed as a snake. Fast and deadly."  
  
I rub the back of my neck sheepishly. "I don't actually know how it's done to be honest. For my tail, it comes naturally. Like if I wanted to strike, I strike. But everything becomes complex when I want to move my hands and feet, like there's a delay in them."  
  
Shen laughs.  
  
"That's perfectly normal. Hand-to-hand isn't something you can learn over the course of a few days. It takes a long time to build up, though I'm confident that you'll do better with each session. You've got your basics like stances and how to hit properly, so now's really just learning the opposite: how to defend."  
  
I nod. I get into position, arms raised and in front of me. Shen gets into a stance different to mine where he stands nearly perpendicular to myself.  
  
There's a subtle drop in Shen's tone that has me stiffening: “Keep in mind, the people on Deylah's Faith are trained to fight Xenomorphs.” Shen _moves_ , and I barely dodge his fist aiming for my ear. It took a lot of effort to not yelp out loud. “They're tougher than your average marines.”

Another punch, and I feel panic rising in my chest. This is the first time I've seen Shen coming at me so aggressively. I back up, trying to collect myself with the distance I intended to put, but Shen keeps advancing. He doesn't score any direct hits, but I can feel the brisk wind caused by his fists flying past my skin.

_“They know no fear.”_

On the other hand, I'm the one who is nearly paralyzed with it. It makes my hand clammy, and my heart races. I recognise a threat when I see one, but there should be no reason for me to perceive Shen as such. He's been nice to me thus far, and has done nothing bad towards me.

Having been so focused on dodging punches, I wasn't expected a leg to sweep at my ankles. I topple onto the mats without grace, letting out a soft 'oof!' when I land on my front. My hands have broken most of my fall, but it is surprising, nevertheless. When I recover, I find Shen perching overhead with a dark look looming off him. His dark eyes seem to be piercing deep into my soul. 

It makes my hair stand on ends, like a low electrical current decided to tickle my skin. However, this very sensation is making my whole body shiver from... fear? Perhaps something worse, I cannot describe clearly. All I know is that I had to get away from the potential danger, and _fast_.

Shen makes a subtle movement and I leap away, rolling off the training mat entirely. I end up crouching as I bare my teeth, hissing at Shen through a lowered jaw. It's an instinctual reaction to a threat, and even my tail is raised high and ready to strike.

Shen looks on, never once taking his eyes off me. Where he is, he pulls back with a soft sigh.

“Looks like you've got a long way to go, kid.”

“What did you do?” I growl out. During our past few spars, I've never felt anything like _this_.

Undeniably fear, but it is far from normal. It isn't a reaction to a phobia. It is the genuine subconscious, instinctual response when one knew that they were in grave danger.

“You shouldn'z hav' done zat, Zhen,” Olkeys, who has been silent all the while, speaks up. His tone drops, and I find myself being equally wary of him now.

“Kid needs to know to fight,” Shen replies without hesitation.

“You know vat I mean.”

Shen rakes a hand through his short, black hair. “Let's call it for the day, Hope. Go back and get some rest.”

What in the world was _that_?

  
\-----  
  


“Shen said that you guys were above the 'average marines'. Define that,” I say out loud the moment Sunderland is back from whatever he was doing.

The man with ashen blond hair doesn't even give me a glance to show he acknowledges my presence in our shared room. Instead, he walks over over to his scupboard and pulls out a set of fresh clothing. He continues to ignore my words, and I choose to intercept his advance to the bathroom.

His dark brown eyes meet mine, but he still refuses to speak. He attempts to walk around me, but I slam my hand against the door frame, completely cutting out his escape route.

“Shen pulled a weird stunt on me during PT. It's nothing that I've ever felt before. I'm not scared of him, but I was. I want to know why. It feels weird that I'd become scared of him all of a sudden without reason, and not the other way round.”  
  
Sunderland lets out a loud snort, as if I told a joke.

“You think you're scary to us? Just because you've got a little alien blood in you?” He gives a crooked smile, showing a little teeth. “That stunt you pulled in the cell? That's amateur. Let me tell you something: no one on this base is the least bit afraid of you. No one is going to hesitate before they pull the trigger that'll land a bullet in your pretty head.”

He steps closer, and I straighten up to size up to him, even though he was nearly an entire head taller. 

“No man on Deylah's Faith is without a history of meeting a Xenomorph face-to-face. The fact that you're seeing them now is because they've survived through scenarios which makes hell seem like a better place.”

Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he pulls it off his head. I can feel myself flinching at the sudden gesture, but at this distance between us, it is then I can actually see what exactly adorns his chest.

The typical, military issue dog tag is ever present, its silver dulled over time. It's relatively scratched up as well, proof of its age. It states a full name (Jordan Ashley Sunderland), his age (32) and his blood type (B-). Around the tag that states his information, his skin is littered with several raised scars that ranged from hairline thickness, to nasty sizes that are inch wide. The worst seems to be a set of three parallel slashes that went from under his left chest, all the way down to his naval.

“Crux expedition, twelve years ago. It was meant to be a routine check for the holds within the Hakka Expanse. By the time we found out there was an active hive, it was already too late. I was a Lance Corporal back then. I had six other men in the squad, and there were five squads altogether. Only three of us made it off the moon, barely alive.”

I swallow hard. I didn't mean for him to have to talk about his past. I just... 

“One of them fuckers managed to catch me across, right here. It was a miracle I survived because I was sure the hernias were the least of my worries. Sixty-six stitches.”

“I'm sorry,” I blurt out, turning away. I'm sure my face was contorted with an odd expression, but I can't help it. Hearing Sunderland's story, I can't help but feel guilty. For what exactly, I don't know.

“You want to know what Shen pulled on you?” The question catches my interest and I open my eyes slightly. Even before I know it, my jaw is snatched into a vice grip and I'm being forced to meet Sunderland in the eyes.

The act has my senses skittering and a chill runs down my spine. Even though I have my nails digging into Sunderland's arm, it seems to do nothing to him.

There it is again, the sudden rush of adrenaline that has my heart pumping crazily. My mind is screaming at me to back away and run. There's a big threat, and I have to flee.

“Xenomorphs are hyper-reactive to fear. The stronger that sense is emitting from their victims, the more likely they are to prey on them. It's been tested and proven. But take away that fear and reverse it against them...” There's a slight loosening of Sunderland's grip and I tear away with a hard shove to his chest. My legs move on their own accord and I'm at the furthest end of the room, snarling at the other.  
  
There's a glint of pity on Sunderland's eyes and I hate it to the very core of my existence. As if he is looking at a kicked puppy.

“ _No one_ on Deylah's Faith fears the Xenomorphs, and they definitely aren't be afraid of you.”  
  
\---------

 

Next morning, I'm in Amy's lab and sulking. Lawson's my escort today, thankfully. I don't think I can face Shen or Sunderland properly without acting up or something. Though, with the knowledge that the people on this base are so well-equipped physically and mentally to deal with the Xenomorphs, the sense of discomfort has never once left me.

It's been two weeks with her; how time flies. She's been great keeping me updated with all her findings. Everything in her records have more or less been stabilised, and she isn't poking me with needles that often anymore. Surprisingly, she makes a good conversationalist when she's not spouting random things about Xenomorphs.

“Did something upset you?” Amy asks gently.

I'm quick to open my mouth, but the reply doesn't come out that easily. Also coupled with the fact that Lawson is in the room, I cannot voice my question out loud. Where I am, sitting on the bioscan table legs hanging, I start fiddling with my thumbs and my tail twitches in anticipation.

“Nothing you can help with, anyway. Something happened yesterday that's been getting on my nerves, that's all.” After the incident with Sunderland, the guy left the room and I have yet to see him today.

“Do you require something to make you relax?”

I raise a brow.

“We have a synthetic drug. Of course, only if you're willing to use it. Not only does help me with my research but I bet it might make you feel a little better.”

“What kind of drug are we talking about?”

“It's a drug that suppresses the release of neural chemicals that contribute to their aggression. Take it like catnip for big, fierce aliens. It'll make you jelly,” Amy chuckles. “It has no effect on humans, however, since that part of our brain is almost insignificant. So far, we're aware that you're affected by normal tranq. Would you like to see if this affects you?”

“Huh,” I scoffed lightly, curious to know the result. From what I knew, only a small percentage of my DNA is actually Xenomorph's. “It won't hurt me, I suppose?”

“Knock you out, perhaps?”

“Guess it wouldn't make a difference,” I shrug. I show my arm.

Amy excitedly goes around her table to obtain said drug. She fumbles around, and I watch her pull out a bottle of pale yellow fluid. She takes a syringe from the same drawer, removes the safety packaging and draws the drug. She walks over and do what she needs to, cleaning the inner part of my elbow, remove any air bubbles inside the syringe, and inserting it straight into the vein. This one hurts a little more than compared to blood drawing, and I wince.

“Let me know how you feel.” Which is nothing, yet.

I give a hum as a response as I look around the room. Nothing changes. Amy still has a moderately messy table with papers and books strewn all over the surface. Her other spare lab coat (that has some questionable stains) lay on the back of her wheely chair. The overhead screen remains switched off unless required, but she shares stuff with me from her tablet nowadays. She's been real nice, sharing her snacks with me.

At some point, Lawson says he'll be outside the lab because he's receiving a call. I just wave to him, and he leaves the room. That's when I feel like I have the chance to ask my burning question.

“Amy, are you aware of the soldiers here undergoing any special training regime?”

“Training? Do you mean physical training?”

“Not just that. I mean like... mental training. To be able to fight Xenomorphs.”

The smile on her face fades slightly, and she lowers the cup she has been hold to her lap.

“Ah, so you're aware that the people who serve in Deylah's Faith are all survivors of their pasts.”

I nod. “Shen told me, but didn't elaborate.”

The scientist takes a deep breath and places her cup on the table, as if fearing that she'd drop it at some point.

“I've been dedicated to learning about Xenomorphs since I was twenty-two. When I was told that I would be given a chance to study an extra-terrestrial form, I took the offer instantly. I'm quite married to my job, and there's not a day I don't look forward to learning more about this alien species. I've done many things in my life. I've studied them anatomically, genetically, even their habitats and such. If you ask why, it's for the benefit of us mankind.”

“Why?”

“Believe it or not, humanity is at the brink of extinction. Not quite yet, but give it a few hundred years or so; we'd be just a record in the sand. The human populace has been estimated to have dropped by seventy-five percent over the past hundreds of years. It sounds little right now, but it won't be in the future.  
  
“We're not equipped with the capabilities of terra-forming; there are lots of monsters, unspeakable creatures worse than the Xenomorphs that exist out there. To you, the Xenomoprhs being considered one of the less dangerous species might sound like a joke, but it's the truth. There are creatures that even the Xenomorphs wouldn't even dare to go against, not if they can help it.

“To be able to study the Xenomorphs is like studying our history in reverse. The Xenomorphs originated from us; we're the ancestors. That's why we're the perfect hosts, because our synergy with them is the highest in the universe. With the right tweak in DNA, there's a potential that we can even evolve ourselves to them.”  
  
Amy pauses to take a drink after speaking so much.

“Are you suggesting what Shen and Sunderland had done towards me is supposed to be linked to the Xenomorphs?”

“Oh, are you talking about the bizarre, scary side to them?”

“That's the one,” I say quickly. I'm nearly at the edge of my seat wanting to know why they could pull something like that. 

She chuckles as if it is an obvious thing I should have expected.

“There's no way soldiers can fight Xenomorphs if they fear them. You see, Xenomorphs are slightly telepathic creatures. They read the scents and to a certain extent, the minds of their preys. If they meet a prey that is considered more aggressive to them, they are least likely to attack unless absolutely necessary. Our soldiers have been trained this way to maximise their field ability. They cannot build a fear for the Xenomorphs, or they are sure to be the first to die.”

Amy gives a slight nod of approval, and a cheshire smile that shows how happy she is able to explain things concerning the topic.

“Repeated exposure to the Xenomorphs dampens the trauma caused from meeting them before. When the human realises they can be superior just by projecting the right front, even the Xenomorphs would cower.”

I don't know which part of the explanation of hers that I should be worried about – the fact the soldiers on Deylah's Faith had been subjected to repetitive exposure to Xenomorphs that they don't fear them, or the fact that I am able to pick up on this aggression because of my bloodline.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be away for two weeks (no laptop, sorry!), but I'll update as soon as I'm back!  
> In the meantime, leave a comment, strike a conversation, anything! I'll definitely not give away spoilers, but hints are always sent ;)
> 
> The aggression theory is referenced to the novel The Labyrinth by S.D. Perry. To break it down for people who have not read it, Dr. Paul Church on the Innominata had been housing a few Xenomorphs for research. I won't spoil the book itself too much, but through observation he had found out particular attack habits of Xenomorphs. At the end of the book, the female lead, when driven with a burning confidence, deterred the Xenomorphs that should have attacked her. Instead, they fled, or at least had chosen to attack their weaker kin that was fearful. 
> 
> "Fearful prey seems to attract aliens and stimulate them to make messy kills" - Paul Church. 
> 
> Also something mention worthy: Church was able to leash a Xeno, of course with a restraining mechanism that shocked it like a dog collar when it does something unfavourable. Instead of choosing to attach Church who would have been to closest to it, the Xeno was more interested in the people around who started to flee upon the sight of it, further suggesting that it is drawn more to targets that were scared. The next would be an individual who held weapons, thus a threat (however, these two are still linked to fear). 
> 
> Other prior tests were: 
> 
> 1) a starving drone choosing to attack a scared man rather than docile pig of a meal, and subsequently chooses to feast on a meal rather than escape  
> 2) it chose to attack an armed man over an unarmed one (always attack a perceived threat)  
> 3) the usage of FTIR, a telepathamine that 'increases the sens of invulnerability and increased mental strength'. At first, the alien was about to attack the other man who was scared, but when the drugged man stepped forward, it backed off. the theory is that in an exalted state, aliens can be influenced by a human wave via synthetic E waves. 
> 
>  
> 
> From the above, you can roughly see where I'm approaching this story, though there's a lot, lot more involved.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEELINGS – both wanted and unwanted. Hope you enjoy it, because our dear boy is about to receive a little human affection from our resident grump. And thrown into the beginning of an identity crisis.

Gradually, the drug kicks in. It starts with a subtle tingling at the tips of my fingers. The initial twiddling reduces to an awkward jerking of limbs. My body starts having difficulties just sitting upright. My tail drops, flaccid and a small portion of it hangs limply over the edge of the bioscan table. The hands planted by my sides were starting to turn into limp noodles.

“Hope? Are you okay?” Amy asks, concern written all over her face as she raises herself from her chair. She reaches over, grasping my shoulder. “Is the drug taking effect?”

“M' guessing so,” I murmur out. No, moan out, because everything feels heavy. My body, head... While my vision isn't swimming, it's getting hard to concentrate. The white of the room is suddenly blinding, and I have to squint through half-lidded eyes just to see what Amy is doing.

“Oh goodness,” she glances at her watch. “It takes approximately five minutes for your system to react to drug, which is a big contrast to actual Xenomorphs. Even with the weight-to-drug ratio.”

 _I don't care for that. All I want to know is how do I stop this feeling_ , is what I want to say, but my mouth doesn't work. It's parched, as if I've been through the desert for months. That's when I realize that I have been breathing heavily through my mouth, drying it out.

“Hope!” I hear the scientist call out just as the world seems to fall horizontal to my vision. I collapse on my side, unable to move and unable to speak, mouth ajar. I can feel Amy sliding her hands along my arm, I suppose her weak attempt to try and soothe my current state. But it isn't helping as her touches feel like a mix of hot and cold stinging my nerves. What is that word? Hypersensitivity, was it?

In midst of my haze, I can hear the barest hint of the door sliding open, and I pray it's not someone who would worsen the situation.

“What the hell is going on?” A sharp voice from the entrance snaps. It rings in my ears and I wince. Of course, nothing goes the way I want it to

Amy is stammering at the angry tone emitting from Sunderland, whom I can hear stomping over to the centre of the room. “I- I administered Hope the XH-docilem to see if it affects him. Turn out it does, but at a delayed rate. It's meant to placate him, and well, there's a component of muscle relaxants but I didn't expect it to affect him _this_ much.”

“Christ,” Sunderland curses out and I see him standing in front of me. He starts to shift me around with a gentleness I never knew such a rough person could have. Every movement makes my skin burn, however, and I'm either hissing or groaning, I can't tell.

“Whoah, what's going on?” Lawson's the next person to enter the room. “I was only outside for a short while!”

“Marinez used the docilem on Hope. He's completely unable to act, so I'm taking him back to our quarters.”

I can almost hear Lawson scolding with a doctor-like tone: “Damn. Marinez, you should know better that Hope ain't a full-fledged Xeno. You shouldn't be administering those kind of stuff into him without prior consultation of the risks involved. What if it had adverse effects on him?”

“Don't tell me what I can and can't do,” the scientist growls out angrily, threatened by the accusation. Sunderland has me in his arms now, bridal style. I don't even have the mental and physical capacity to respond as he lifts me off the bioscan table, tail hanging.  
  
“Wait! Before you take him away, I need a quick blood sample.”

“Back off, Marinez. I haven't even begun to chew you out for doing this to him,” Sunderland barks. “You should've seek permission from the higher ups before you chose to use the docilem on him.”

“It's my job and I was given every authority over Hope, Sunderland! You know better than anyone that anything to do with Xenomorphs has everything to do with me. I'm not letting any chance of my studies be interrupted by uncultured brutes like you!”

What's this undesirable conversation going overhead? I feel like some beef stock requiring a good screening before being prepared to be sent to the butcher house. Ah, then again, it's not any much different, is it? I am, after all, just an experiment to them. My only purpose is to be a lab rat for their poking and prodding. The service as their test subject is my only reason I'm here.

It's what I promised.

“It's fine,” I breath out, but barely. Both of them manage to hear me and cease their bicker.

Amy scoots close, and Sunderland can't back up as we're wedged between the bioscan table and the extremely enthusiastic scientist.

“Hope, may I? Please, this is very important for me. I swear, I won't ever use the XH-docilem on you, but I need this data. For all we know, it could help you too.”

I give the faintest nod. Amy's thrilled, versus the low growl that emits from Sunderlands. It isn't audible, but I can feel the rumbling in his chest where he holds me. It's surprisingly calming, if not reassuring that at least someone is trying to help me.

Amy returns with the tools she needs and does the pin prick on my finger. I suck in air through grit teeth as the pain flares exponentially worse than it should have.

“Okay, okay. Take a rest, Hope. The drug should burn out within the hour, hopefully.”

“If anything happens to him, I'll have your hide, Marinez,” Sunderland warns. Before said person can reply, he turns to his squad mate. “Pick his tail up and put over my shoulder. The last thing we need is someone stepping on it and hurting him.”

Hearing that, I'm sincerely touched. Sunderland is actually considerate, and I find no fault in it. I've never gotten my tail stepped on before, and there are some things in life that you should never try 'for once', thank you very much.

Lawson does as instructed, but the touch does send discomforting sensations and I flinch slightly. Sunderland probably feels it, and once my tail is in place he's out of Amy's lab. Everything in my body's like jelly, and I'm a ragdoll in his hold.

I can't count the number of people who may have seen us treading through the halls. All I'm able to do was to take in the sound of echoing footsteps that seem to thunder in my ears. Unpleasant, but bearable. It's only back in the cabin that everything is peaceful for my senses.

Sunderland lowers to me onto my bed and I flop on my side. It takes a lot of effort to just get my tail to move, but I won't feel comfortable if it isn't curled in front of my body. Sunderland doesn't even make it to his bed, probably tired from carrying my dead weight from one end of the base to another. He simply crumples to the floor unceremoniously, using his sleeve to wipe the beads of sweat on his forehead.

Where I lay, I come to ponder: what exactly does Sunderland thing of me? At the very beginning, he was cold, stand-offish at every sight of me. He'd avoid all form of communication where possible.

I'm genuinely confused by this man. He can be heartless one moment, and caring the next. I'd like to think he actually cared, if not for the threat he gave Amy as well as taking the tremendous effort to bring me back here. If he truly disliked me, he would've have done all those, would he?

“Do you actually hate me?” I ask all of a sudden. It is meant to me a mental question, but somehow it slips out my mouth. Thankfully, my articulation isn't hindered by the drug anymore.

My words don't startle him, but he does turn his head a little to show the unimpressed look on his face.

“Of course I hate you. You're one of them.” Ouch, way to be direct. “We were briefed on what you are beforehand – an Otromorph, the first and only hybrid to have ever existed in history. While the rest of the team took the job without qualm, how did you think I was supposed to feel? I was nearly killed by Xenomorphs. It was just a matter of time before I believe you would, too.”

“I'm not-” I sputter in disbelief at what he is trying to imply. “I _wouldn'_ t.”

“Everyone here has faced your kind at some point in their lives, and I guarantee that no experience was been pleasant. How would you feel if I told you I killed one of them just before meeting you?”

The drug is probably wearing off, because where I lay, I can grasp my sheets. Not tightly, but enough that they crinkle under my digits.

“Even if you asked me that, how am I to supposed reply?” I can feel a soft whine bubbling in my throat.

I've never even met the creature that my blood's a part of. Am I supposed to feel angry? Sad? And if I did would it make me less human and make Sunderland hate me even more?

“Yeah, that's exactly the issue. From the day we were assigned to you, I was prepared to put a bullet through your head the very moment you showed signs of aggression. The rest were overly relaxed, whereas I was highly cautious of your moods and intentions. I'd made sure I kept a close eye on you.”

A frustrated sigh escapes.

“But you didn't act aggressive or as mindless as them; more than just a Xenomorph with a human skin. If you were, continuing to hate you would have made my life a hell lot easier. But that day...” He trails off.

That day? Which day? There were times we seemed to get along, and others that we resembled complete strangers.

“You cried, and that's when I realised that I've been the one acting like a brat.”

Oh, _that_ one.

My cheeks warm up at the memory of it. It's probably ranked the most embarrassing thing in my life I've ever done, not that I'd tell anyone about it. Sunderland doesn't seem like the type to spread stuff either so I was hoping he'd just forget about it all.

“That's when I realised that you're not entirely them. Those aliens don't feel emotions – they're programmed to just _kill_ , sometimes even their own kind. You're more much more than that.”

“I'm not exactly programmed to be anything, to be honest. I'm emotionally constipated. I don't know what I'm saying or doing half the time,” I mumble. “But thanks, Sunderland. For um, carrying me back here.”

“Jordan,” he corrects. “Sunderland's my father, and he's not someone I've had too fond memories of.'

I don't question. I simply nod and curl up on my bed. The tip of my tail does a wag slowly, and I mentally deny that it's due to my spirits being lifted.

* * *

 

 

Despite the commotion, my daily ritual of dropping by Amy's lab doesn't cease. Upon my arrival, she gives a sheepish 'hey', seemingly embarrassed for what had happened. I take my usual spot on the bioscan, the table having upgraded to my makeshift chair cum bed whenever I'm in the lab. Shen, my escort for the day, stands next to me and adopts a stance 'at attention' out of habit, probably.

“I'm really sorry about the docilem,” she lowers her head sheepishly. “The data I managed to extract from yesterday has been extremely useful. Because I'm able work with your non-acidic blood, I am potentially able to create a anti-docilem, like an antidote.”

“That's really quick,” I raise a brow. She takes the compliment with a swat of her hand in the air.

“I heard that from Igs and Jordan,” Shen slips into the conversation smoothly. His arm crosses and he glowers down at the lady who flinches under his stern tone. “Any invasive treatment is considered off-limits without the higher ups' approval. If Henderson reacted adversely to the XH-docilem that put his life in danger, your contract may be terminated.”

The scientist is clearly intimidated by Shen more than Jordan whose words affect her little. She clears her throat and nods, turning to face me to dodge the dark scowl from the squad leader.

“We're more or less done with your physical analysis, Hope. I would like us to move on from here. Come, if you'd follow me.”

Curious to what procedures might follow after, I hop off the bioscan table and do as instructed. The three of us tread through the base, past other patrolling and non-patrolling soldiers alike. Keeping in mind the nature of these people, I keep my tail hidden, not wanting to draw any attention to myself.

At some corner of the base I've never been to, we enter a large cargo lift. Amy takes a card in her lab pocket and scans it against a small black box to the side of the floor buttons. A sound beeps, and she pushes the button number five. The door shuts with an ominous groan and begins its descent, taking us three down.

Neither Amy nor Shen says a thing. When I take a peek at Shen, however, his brows are angled to a deep frown. It's the first time I've seen him with this expression. Where we are heading to must be some place he doesn't like.

When the doors open, a sudden chill runs down my spine. The temperature in the unfamiliar underground floor drops significantly, but that isn't what gets my attention most. It is my mind instantly picking up unfamiliar things.

“I would like you to meet someone special today,” Amy hums, clearly shaking in her coat from excitement. “Here, we will see how you do with our specimens.”

“Specimens? You don't mean...”

“Oh yes, you know what I mean.”

Xenomorphs. I'm going to finally meet the kin I have never met.

The corridors are narrow and gloomy. The only sounds I can hear are our echoing footsteps and the low hum of machinery. The straight path leads to what seems to be the core of the underground base, shaped in a decagon. As we walked around it, I can see the lower floors, and there are at least two more that may not be accessible by the lift we took.

Amy leads us to the fourth pathway on the left, re-scanning her card for entry. The place is a maze beyond a maze, and the numerous doors reminds me of a prison. Our last stop is a spacious room with a wide glass, about fifteen feet across. There is a metal door behind it, and it seems like it can be opened vertically.

At a large panel of buttons and levers, Amy starts pressing buttons and there is a groaning of machinery. Whatever process that is going on behind the glass took a short while to complete, and once everything falls silent, Amy triggers the metal door to open, revealing the contents beyond it.

That's when I see _him._

The very creature standing in the room behind the thick, transparent glass.

It is an actual Xenomorph right before my very eyes. Around seven foot tall of reflective ebony that bask in the cell's dull white light. An actual face is absent – no eyes, ears or nose. Only a jaw of silver human-like teeth that is bared between twitching lips. A huge, four-to-five foot carapace glints with its smooth texture, and under it the neck connects. The body is lanky and bony, with an ebony sheet of skin that contours every angle. Here, I can understand how the traits of my ridge-like back bone is adopted.

There aren't exactly words to describe what I am feeling or perceiving from the Xenomorph. There's no rumored telepathy, because aliens can't use words as they're incapable of speech.

But the feeling is there. A feeling that says _we finally meet._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to steam sales, I got Alien VS Predator game. Of course, I chose the xenomorph campaign first. Six is smart af.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meeting people new and old, and more secrets are surfacing.  
> Also, non-graphic death of someone familiar...

“Amy, what in the world is going on,” I blurt without even thinking. I give her an exasperated look, demanding for an answer. Her eyes just go wide in puzzlement.

“This is uh... one of our Xenomorphs?” She tries.

“That is _not_ a Xenomorph!” I bark, feeling anger bubbling in my chest. I don't even realise that I have taken an angry step forwards towards the scientist, but a firm grip on my shoulder hinders my advance. I scowl over my shoulder and Shen, who is giving a look of disapproval.

I give a low growl in response, but don't shrug off the hand. I turn back to Amy, still glaring in her direction.

“I don't know what you _Xenologists_ have been doing, but that... _creature_ in there,” I thrust my finger in the direction of the imprisoned alien, “May look like a Xenomorph, but I can tell it isn't. Not an genuine one, anyway.”

“I-I really don't know! The Xenomorphs I've been receiving from him have been like these!” Amy stammers with her hands up in surrender.

“Him?” I bite out.

“He's the one who's in charge of the hive-”  
  
“You have a _hive_ here!?”

“Hope, calm down,” Shen locks an arm across my chest, completely stopping me from moving at all. And he's doing it with a firmer grip, which means business.

Amy evidently swallows, but regains her composure and straightens up with a deep breath.

“Yes, we have a semi-active hive under Deylah's Faith. However, it is well-controlled and maintained, and we have fail-proof plans should things get out of hand. For me to be able to study the Xenomorphs, we need them alive, and generally Xenomorphs that have been removed from the hives have significantly shorter life spans. We've managed to secure this planet's hive because LV-808's 'winter' season is a window of opportunity. The hive went into complete hibernative state when we entered. Their numbers were significantly culled, and with the docilem, we've managed to extend their hibernative states until they are ready.”

“That doesn't explain him,” I jerk my head in the direction of the ebony creature seemingly watching us through the thick glass.

“What do you mean?” Amy still wears a look of confusion, and I cannot tell if she's bluffing or not. “He's just a Xenomorph with a small variant-”

A deep chuckle fills the room, grasping all our attentions. My eyes flick to the far back of the room, right behind where we all are standing. I had not noticed that there is another door, albeit a larger one than we came through before. There stands a man dressed in a buttoned up white coat. His balding peppered grey and white hair gives a hint at his age, though I can't tell for sure. A pair of glasses sits at the bridge of his nose, and his head is cocked back with a smile adorning it.

“Your father was a lot better at emotional relations,” the man says, and crosses his arms. “At least you've adopted most of his physical traits.”

“Who are you?” I growl out.  
  
“Oh, young Hope. You may not know me, but I know you very well. After all, it was I who gave you the name of your species, my dear Otromorph.”

I feel my entire body freezing up upon the words. Realisation dawns upon me quicker than I can digest, and I find my heart thundering against my chest. The initial shock bubbles into anger, and I bare my teeth as I size up to the man, growling at his presence.

“Ah, so you _do_ know who I am.”

“You bastard! It's all because of you!” I shout angrily and dive for him. All I can process is the rage coming from the knowledge that this man _-Delgado-_ was the cause of my parents' deaths, and that he needs to share the same fate.

I'm nearly within arms reach of the murdering scientist when two black blurs steal my attention. It happens too quickly: the sudden scream of Amy's which mixes with Shen's apprehensive yelling, the skin-crawling laugh Delgado makes, and the hissing of a species I should not know, but instantly recognise as a warning. It's followed by a heavy pressure that collides from above, and I choke out as my chest hits the floor. Weights settle against my back and I have to crane my head to the back just to see a Xenomorph's face dangerously close to mine.

The features are no different from the imprisoned one, but they're definitely bigger and their skins are glistening with mucus that drips generously. Some has even seeped through my clothing and I feel the coldness on my back.

I'm stunned, not because they both had pinned me down effortlessly, but rather I am able to sense their thoughts and intentions clear as day. They've been following an order to restrain a target, and that individual is me.

“Just as reckless as your father,” Delgado tuts and I turn to face him with a dark glare. “And of course, your _other_ father is no better. Look how he had paid the price,” his eyes dark to the back and I follow the gaze.

It lands to the Xenomorph behind the glass.

No. _No, no, no._

I knew the Xenomorph isn't a pure one, not like the ones who have me restrained. But is that the reason? Because the unique one which has been initiating small, bizarre conversations during my state of unconciousness is actually...

“That's not Oakley!” I snap. Maybe I'm in a state of denial, because no matter what, the creature that sits in the metal cell does not have the body of a human nor the mind of one.

“Not entirely Henderson, per se... But a part of his memory and personality is. Don't you miss him, Hope? Don't you want to be together with him again?” Delgado rubs his chin as I glare at him. “They say not to let history repeat itself, in science, it's always about repeating the same experimentation to obtain results, doesn't it?”

As if on cue, the two Xenomorphs haul me to my feet and I struggle to pull away from them. I'm demanding them to let go, not that they will listen anyway, and I'm forced to take step after step as they drag me away. I try to call out for Amy and Shen, but neither dare to move or speak a word. I feel utter betrayal and I lose the my fight.

I get dragged through the same hall we came in from but take a different turn. When we're through one of the doors, the sudden explosion of ringing in my ears makes me feel like screaming. It's like a thousand different voices trying to speak at the same time. The Xenomorphs grasping me on either arms is what prevents me from covering my ears from the onslaught of voices. I can barely crack an eye open to take in my surroundings.

My breath holds at the sight of dual cell rows that multiplies to the abyssal ceiling. It's impossible to count the number of holding rooms there are in a single glance. A transparent side of the prison allows me to see Xenomorphs being caged in them, one per block.

The voices aren't actual voices, but the angry and fearful screeches of multiple Xenomorphs trapped in their cells. Their crying echoes resonate in my chest, causing me to experience the very same anxiety that they were feeling. They aren't like the Xenomorphs flanking me, which are void of emotions. Those in the cells are livid, alive, calling, as if they were _human._ While there are no words spoken, I can understand them through their thoughts and emotions, and they're all filled with questions I cannot answer.

We stop in front of a door, and when it opens, I get hauled into the room beyond the entrance. The two Xenomorphs guard the doorway, hissing as if simultaneously forcing me to wander in further and daring me to leave. I glower at them, unafraid of their warning. Turning, I face the Xenomorph I have been looking at before, unsurprised to see Amy, Shen and Delgado standing beyond a thick glass that is situated at the opposite end of the room.

The Xenomorph that lodges in this cell is cowering into the corner. We both take in each other's presence, and I cannot describe the pull I'm getting wanting to approach it. It's being wary of the other Xenomorphs by the doorway, though curious to know who I am.

Deciding that there is no viable threat, the Xenomorph creeps up slowly, and I pick up on the several curious thoughts it has. It seems to know who I am, yet at the same time, does not have a firm answer to its own questions. When it is close enough, it raises itself up to its full height, and I have to tilt my head back to keep its face (or the lack thereof) within my view.

I stare up at the Xenomorph that is shorter than those guarding the doors. However, it is not less daunting to stand before an full-grown Xenomorph that still towers me. There is no sign of it feeling threatened or harboring aggressive tendencies, but I'm wary, nevertheless.

It looks on, questioning my presence before it. Long, sleek digits raise up and brushes against the side of my face, not quite touching, but lingers nearby. I feel a heart tug when the spindly hand rests on top of my head, just the way Oakley does when I was a young boy. My chest swells with a bizarre sensation of warmth and sadness.

“Oakley... It's really you...?” I ask softly.

The Xenomorph gives a soft cry, shaking its head side to side in agony as its memory turns fuzzy. I can feel the confusion and fear as it's attempting to process what's going on. The progression worsens and it clutches its own cranium _(such a human-like act)_ , still letting out the noises of anguish and I panic.

“Hey, it's okay! Oakley, stop, it's okay!” I attempt to calm it down, tearing the five-digit hands from its head. It doesn't resist much and thrusts its head against the side of my neck, moaning out something soft and gentle. I wrap my arms around the large carapace, allowing myself to soak the coldness of the rubbery skin.

“You tried to warn me, didn't you?” I whisper. “You're still trying to protect me, even in this state.”

'Oakley' tears away from my grip and anger surges through my gut as he throws his head back and gives a spine-chilling screech. He turns to the glass where Delgado stands and hisses at the scientist. As usual, the man merely gives his cheshire smile.

“I hope you have an explanation of all this,” I hiss out, equally angry as the Xenomorph in the same room.

“Of course, though I'd probably have to spell everything out for your feeble, young mind,” Delgado clears his throat into a fist, as if he's about to make a speech. “Initially, every big organisation's plan is to dominate the Xenomorphs. On LV-808, the opportunity presents itself as the planet's seasonal cycle hits the winter arc. For fifty years, it drops below zero, so low that even Xenomorphs must fall into hibernative state to survive. Deylah's Faith was set up easily within months, and we carefully harvested the hive that thrives on this planet during other seasons. With access to all collective data, and the usage of O'Klein's unique empathic ability, I have control of the main hive. Yes, even the _Queen_. With that in place, Project Janus can be officially initiated, and the fruit of my labour stands right next to you.”

Delgado holds a hand out and my eyes flicker to Oakley, who still bares his teeth in seething hatred.

“And what exactly is this _Project Janus_? What happened to Oakley – the _real_ Oakley, and to the others?”

“It's as you were told; Oakley is dead. That fact is not a lie,” Delgado hums as he pushes something on an electronic pad he now has in his hand. A small, floating holographic screen appears in the room I'm in, and I stare at it intently.

A video recording starts playing, and the setting seems to be one of those typical mad doctor rooms. On the screen, my adoptive father is strapped to a chair by the shoulders, waist and limbs. White peppers his hair, and his facial hair had grown wild and unkempt, something that would have taken months to grow. I grit my teeth at the sight of him. A date etched at the corner of the video indicates that it's slightly over half a year back, just a few months before the time I've begun receiving the mail.

“ _You won't get away with this,_ ” Oakley (dear god, it's my father's voice that I've missed so) groaned out.

“ _No one will know of anything, Henderson,”_ Delgado's ever irritating voice floats in the background, out of sight. _“Perhaps your son, maybe? Hope, was it? Such an ironic name for a cursed being. Ah, but you'd like it won't you? You been hoping to be able to see your son. If you could to be reunited with him again after all these years of being away, wouldn't that be great?”_

“ _Don't make it sound like I want Hope to be here!”_

It was _this_. They extracted these words from my father just to lie to me and force me to stay here. While it had not changed my earlier decision, it is good to know the truth that he hadn't wanted me to be here at all.

“ _No matter, the Otromorph would not be able to resist the invitation... once he knows his father is dead,”_ Delgado appears in the camera holding a syringe. The scientist analysed the contents and gave it a few flicks.

“ _What the hell are you trying to-”_ Oakley's words get cut off when his speech alters to screaming for the scientist to stop. But the latter doesn't flinch when he injects the liquid into the soldier's body.

My chest starts swells with anger, pain and anguish. I want to tear my eyes away from the screen, but I need... I need to know what happened after.

Oakley's body convulses on the table, and his head is thrown back with his jaw wide open. He looked as if he was struggling to breath as his chest freezes up. His digits were digging into either sides of the bed so hard that they started to bleed under the nail bed. And just when I thought it was all over, something under the skin of his chest seem to give and I watch every single detail as a bloody chest-burster, pale ochre in colour, frees itself from my adoptive parent's chest screeching in high pitched wails.

The rest of the clip is Delgado extracting the young into a tube, leaving a lifeless body whose eyes remain wide with fear and shock. The hologram disappears abruptly, and Delgado's voice floats into the room:

“Genetic modification does wonders. These chest-burster are programmed to leave only their hosts when they cannot upkeep them. An extreme state of distress triggers the dormant foetus to wake and break out as usual. Not only is it a beneficial trait, but this generation of Xenomorphs also retain a high extraction of their host's memories and personality, which usually results in lesser aggression and more compliance. However, Henderson seems to exhibit the opposite-”

A scream suddenly rips from my throat, interrupting the scientist. I care little for the things Delgado had said; what's important is that this man is the cause of both my father's death, and I want him dead. _Now._

I turn to the glass screen that separates the three humans from Oakley and myself. Amy and Shen instantly flinches back, but the scientist who is receiving the full brunt of my glare is unaffected. That is, until I dart forward and my tail strikes straight at the glass, instantly piercing three inches deep. A massive spiderweb crack appears, and I relish in my victory when Delgado wipes the smile off his face and replaces it with a deep scowl with the flaw.

Seems like the Xeno-proof glass isn't that Xeno-proof after all, and I hold back from sneering at that amusing thought.

“I'll make you regret bringing me here,” I spit out with my teeth bared and tail swishing. He has no idea how much I'd like to rip his heart out and make swallow it.

The smile creeps back to Delgado's face, albeit slowly and hesitantly.

“Try as hard as you'd like, boy. But don't forget. One wrong move, and your dear father will die for good paying for your mistakes,” Delgado smiles and I have never felt my blood boil with such intensity that it could burn everything in its wake.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline of everything has been officially planned out! Please be patient as we start hitting the halfway mark of Hope Resurgence. Confusing stuff will be explained with time, I promise, and Hope is going to learn who's friend and foe very, very soon. 
> 
> I'll have you know, the third installment of Hope is being prepared as well!
> 
> Bonus art by yours truly (do remove spaces!): http:// ariyumiii.tumblr .com/image/ 176990797544


	9. Chapter 9

Turns out, the docilem comes in gaseous state too. It's understandable, since it's easier to affect a Xenomorph via its respiratory system than to tackle its acidic blood. The only thing that I can remember before passing out is Oakley trying to protect me from the blue-ish hue gas emitting into the cell. 

When I wake, I find myself placed in another one. No one is in the claustrophobic space except myself. No hive Xenos, no Oakley... no Delgado in sight, which is a godsend. Instead, I see Amy beyond the glass with a worried look on her face when I pick myself up.

Groggily, I balance myself on my two feet, stumbling against the wall and having to use it to stand upright. I must look pathetic, struggling to stand. I can't even move my tail yet.

“The glass of water should help,” Amy's voice offers over the system. I turn my gaze to a small side table that has been conveniently placed at the corner of the room. As Amy says, there is a glass with clear liquid inside. Thankfully, it's within arm's reach and I snatch the glass, gulping it at in single go.

“I have to apologise,” she says.

I slam the glass down on the side table, glaring in her direction.

“You didn't tell me.”

“I- Well, for the lack of better term, true, but I swear, all I wanted to do was to learn more about you, being the only Otromorph in existence. Delgado has ever only handed me dead Xenomorphs, and I've only encountered a few lives one to use for my own research. I haven't a clue on what else he's been doing.” Nervousness rolls off her in waves, and her hands clasp together over her chest in a tight lock. “I swear, Hope, I didn't know he had used your adoptive father like that.”

“Oakley isn't the only person who had fallen to his self-indulgent experimentation,” I huff, feeling the fight in me simmer because Amy isn't the reason for my anger.

“Delgado hadn't mentioned anything further than wanting you to meet a Xenomorph to observe your interactions with them. I was against it at first, because we weren't sure how you'd react and vice versa, but he's my superior. I can't refuse his orders. ”

I highly doubt that Delgado would be curious to see my 'interaction' with a Xenomorph. If anything, he is probably wondering if Oakley, now in his Xenomorph alter ego, can truly recognise me. And if he didn't... I may not be standing here right now.

Speaking of Delgado...

“He has some sort of catalyst, doesn't he? His big mouth blurted something about controlling the main hive with my father's empathic ability? How is that possible when he's dead?”

“Ah, yes, your real father, Arius O'Klein,” Amy nods sadly. She fishes her tablet that's wedged between her body and arm, and starts tapping on it. “The very first time I mentioned him, I was nearly kicked off the dropship into space. From then on, I learnt never to ask. But you're right. All the records show is that he's deceased.”

Amy turns the tablet to show me the screen that has a slideshow activated. It starts with a photo of Arius on the floor, lying on his side and bleeding onto the ground. Eyes staring into the distance blankly. It flickers to the next, a picture of Arius' body being placed in a large, silver cylindrical tube orientated horizontally. Next is a top down view of Arius on a table. It might not have seemed any different to an autopsy-like setting, if it weren't for the fact that wires and nodes are being attached to his head.

“If Arius is dead, why's he being hooked up to machines?”

Puzzled by my question, Amy faces the tablet to herself and stares at the photo. She scrolls through, trying to make sense of the records. It takes a her a while to come up with a plausible explanation.

“Arius was shot in the chest. It takes a while for a brain to be fully dead, so this could have been Delgado's attempt on preserving his body.” She taps at the screen again, before freezing at some point. Amy raises her head and looks me straight in the eyes. “I'm not supposed to be doing this, but I think I owe you that that much for all that's happened.”

“Amy?” Panic starts to swell in my gut. I haven't a clue what she's about to do. Nevertheless, the scientist continues jamming away at her technology, ignoring my repeated calling of her name.

In a minute or so, a wide smile plasters her face and she looks as me like she's struck the jackpot. “There! I've managed to bypass the security to his records using a backup system to extract the information,” she exclaims with glee, eyes back and glued to her tablet. “The records says that Arius was placed in cryofreeze to preserve the rest of his body. When they took him out of it, they jump-started his brain with neurostimulation, but only in regions that they believes his empathic abilities were housed in.”

Amy takes a breath. “Delgado managed to sync his own neural waves into Arius' via a machine that causes electromagnetic induction. Hope, he's able to 'control' the Xenomorphs because he's using Arius' mind to tap into theirs. He's making the Xenomorph think that _he's_ Arius; an individual part of _them_. It's like a neural leash kept on the aliens so that he can lead, and pull them back as and when he likes.”

 _That would explain why they're following his orders_ , I mentally think.

“I-It's not a bad thing right? Because it means that he stops the Xenomorphs from actually attacking.”

But if he _really_ wanted to, he could make his pets kill everyone on the base with a single thought.

And that is when I remember Oakley.

“Amy!” I snap out, and she evidently jumps at my sudden outburst. I approach her, half-slamming my palms on the glass between us. “Can you find out anything about Oakley? Or about anything of his experiments that he had mentioned before? Something about chest-burster and memory retaining modifications.”

“Ah, that. I swear, I don't know anything about it either. Let me pull that up... There! It's called... _Project Janus_?” She reads the tablet with wide eyes and curiosity. “It involves putting a genetically modified strain on Xenomorphs, like a chromosome change, in a human host. Alike a nematomorpha, it will only leave its host when exposed to dangers, or if it perceive its host to be dying. Triggers include sudden increased heart rate, decreased blood flow..."

"What about the memories? Personalities?"

"Right, right. Because Xenomorphs naturally obtain genetic traits from the host, this strain increases that percentage. It's capable of retaining a portion of memories and habits of their host, resulting in unpredictable personalities unlike those within a hive that have a somewhat specific programming...”

“Because every human is different,” I mutter. “But I don't get it. Why does Delgado want these modified Xenomorphs if he can't control them?"

“I don't know but... Oh god... Hope, he's infected everyone-”

“And your incessant rattling shall end there,” a deep voice cuts in. Amy stands frozen in her spot as I peer to the side, dread coursing through my body. We resemble children being caught red-handed trying to steal candy. Amy is shocked to the point that she nearly drops her tablet.

From the entry of the other room, Delgado steps in with his two pet Xenomorphs hissing. They're ready to _strike_ , and I am suddenly fearful for Amy's life.

“Good work, Doctor Marinez. You've officially stepped on my toes _and_ given me a reason to fire you for going through your boss' restricted files,” Delgado crosses his arms over his chest where he stands at the door of the room I am facing. “Did you think I would not notice the breach in the restricted files? Or the sudden need to backup my files without my own prior knowledge?”

“Y-you monster!” It's her weak defense, but Amy faces him as bravely as she can muster. “All those poor people you've sacrificed for _Project Janus_!”

“Your two projects are conflicting, Delgado. First, you've secured a hive, and you're even able to control it. Next, you're creating an entire separate entity that is would be considered outcasts from the true hive. What exactly is your end game?” I growl out.

“Sacrifice is a necessity for what we can achieve in the future. Hospitable planets are extremely rare, resources are scarce... It is a known fact that humans are a dying race. What I'm doing is to ensure that we're going to live longer... and better. The objective of Project Janus is to be able to transfer a fully translate a human mind into a Xenomorph's body. Can you imagine, with the success of Project Janus, our Xenomorph selves would be as, if not more, intelligent than our human selves? And imagine living in places we never could because of atmospheric instabilities or natural predators! With our Xenomorph shells, the possibilities are endless!”

The two Xenomorphs creep into the room, their attention never once leaving the woman. They approach her slowly, like cornering a rat.

"As for your question, Otromorph, a hive is needed. With my control over it, I am able to take eggs to harvest. The Queen remains half-drugged constantly with the docilem. A product that I have to thank Doctor Marinez for," Delgado smirks. 

"You monster!" Amy angrily shouts. "You've been using my research for your dubious works!" 

"That's all you've been useful more. Your enthusiasm for the Xenomorphs, I must admit, are terribly annoying," the man scoffs and waves the other scientist off. "With an active hive, I can take harvest the eggs, modify the chest-burster and use them for Project Janus. Obtaining human hosts is easy; death roll convicts, those without identities..." Delgado meets my gaze and the corner of his lip quirks. "Those suspected of high treason."

I grit my teeth and curled my fingers into a tight fist. I will not fall for his provoking. There is a slight disappoint in my lack of response, and it can stay that way. 

"Besides, I'm profiting greatly from this. Did you know Royal Jelly is rather useful for financial gains?”

My head tilts slightly. “Royal what?”

“Royal jelly,” Amy interrupts with a gasp. “It's a substance produced by Queens that is used to make 'Fire', a market drug that people would pay millions for.”

“Raw, royal jelly, given to 'me' just because I got the Queen to do so,” Delgado gives a hearty, open-mouthed laugh and I wish I can shove my tail through his throat. “Where I am now, I'm benefiting to the maximum.”

“At the cost of the lives of so many people,” I hiss out.

The male scientists grunts with a shrug. He might have ordered his lackeys to do something, because they're striding up to Amy. Despite being approached by two fully-grown Xenomorphs, Amy doesn't falter. She seethes at the man, clenching her fists around her tablet so hard that it might have broken under her grip.

“You won't get away with this!” 

Delgado puffs his chest with pride while I have no choice but to watch the scene unfold before me. “We shall see.”

Amy screams profanities as the Xenomorphs grasp her by the arms and effortlessly pulls her out the room. I can do nothing beyond glaring at Delgado's smug face and hearing the voice fade into the distance.   
  
\------------------  
  


The mechanisms of the cell is interesting, so to say the least. It exists as a box on its own, capable of being transported by a massive crane that hangs from the ceiling. The crane transfers each individual cell to and from a dock, the very same area I had been conversing with Amy (and prior to that, the cell with Oakley). One unneeded, the crane transports the cell back to its original spot. Each box-like cell sits in a wall full of pigeon holes, similar to a well-organised warehouse. 

Stuck in my own cell, I lose track of time. I have no idea how long I've spent in this cell wondering what might happen to me. Delgado doesn't seem interested in killing me (yet), thus my purpose is unknown. Perhaps I'm part of some diabolical plan to control the human-xenomorps, since they're the ones Delgado cannot control. But there's no way in hell that I'll cooperate with him.

Right now, I'm probably just one of these human-xenomorphs counterpart that he can't control personally, and will be left to be housed in a cell the size of a bedroom. Forever.

I mentally shudder at the prospect of it. There's a sudden wish to be home with grandma. I miss her. She cooked without hesitation, and knew my likes and dislikes. I miss her voice telling me it's ok to be a little difference, because I'm unique. I miss her telling me stories of her workplace and Oakley. 

Hell, I'd rather be stuck in a room with a grumpy Jordan for the rest of my life than live in this stinky place of solitude. Speaking of which, does he know about all these? Shen doesn't seem to be surprised, and that hits me hard because he is the first person who was openly kind to me despite the circumstances. If the entire squad knows, then I can trust no one...

A soft growl breaks my chain of thought and catches my attention; barely audible, but sufficient enough for me to pick it up. I shuffle myself to the wall where it's emitting from. I kneel against it, pressing my ear against the wall. The sounds coming from the other side tells me that there's a Xenomorph on the other side, probably another subject of Project Janus.

 _Interesting_ , I think to myself. It doesn't come as a surprise to me that I would have a neighbour.

I close my eyes, concentrating. If I can calm myself enough, I might be able to feel what the other does.

Soft growls escape them, restless in nature. The closer they are, the more I can decipher their emotions. And actions. My neighbour's pacing around. Nervous. Upset. Angry.

I knock on the wall to get their attention, and it works like a charm. They slink close, and rumblings grow louder. It's an interesting sound, made deep within their core, and I find myself imitating it; a lower but soft rumbling that resonates deep in my chest. I rapped my knuckles against the wall.

No less than a second later, a slam occurs on the other side, giving me a scare. I stare at the wall incredulously, frowning at the unnecessary aggression. Nevertheless, I knock again, but softer this time. Instead of a biting response, the human-xeno remains silent.

Curiosity spikes beyond my cells, because it seems like the other human-Xenomorphs nearby can hear me. I knock the loudest I can muster, and the activities of the creatures around me spike. They're starting to create a ruckus stomping the grounds and scratching glass.

They sounds they make are far from disturbing to me, though they should be. Their hisses and growls are comforting, knowing that there's still the fight in them. The human-Xenomorphs are expecting something from me. But what, I can not tell. For all I know, they could just be intrigued by a form that is able to understand them, but not look anything similar. Not that I can be sure they truly understand what I'm saying, but they can feel what I am relaying, as I can theirs.

There's a rekindling of connection, a sensation of something loss being found. Like this is where I belong.

My throat itches, and my secondary jaw clenches.

Standing upright, I step up to the thick glass of my cell, and I can see the Xenomorphs on the opposite wall facing me. There are at least a good two dozen of them or so stacked next to or above each other. On my side, probably a few dozen more that I cannot see.

But I can _feel_ them. And likewise, they can feel me too.

All their tails are swishing behind them in anticipation. Oakley's cell is easily recognisable from the spiderweb cracks on the glass caused by my tail. He's on the lower row, about three cells to my right. His head is lifted to face me, blunt silver teeth slightly bared.

Anger bubbles in my gut at the memory of what had happened to him. It's all because of one man.

As if on cue, the human-Xenomorphs's emotions soured; angry and frustrated. It seems like even if they aren't human anymore, that slight bit of memory conserved allows them to remember their murderer. If the scientist's procedures remain unchanged, they all might have died (or _rebirthed_?) the same way Oakley did. Their last memory will forever be of Delgado sneering over their dying bodies.

“Delgado.” The single word is enough to get the horde hissing and spitting angrily. They _know_ his name. They _know_  their enemy. “He killed my family, and he did this to all of you,” I say louder this time. Claws start scratching the glass; futile, but satisfying to hear nevertheless.

A surge of confidence makes me speak louder, even if my audience cannot understand my words per say. “You were all used by him and made to die for his selfishness. And eventually, I will too. We all will.”

The response is mixed: some are angry, the others anguished. The level of hostility varies with each human-Xenomorph, and I can tell which are the ones that fear him. Things are going to change.

“Fight with me!” I shout. My emotions spur the others, and they thrash in their cells excitedly. “Help me take down Delgado, and turn Deylah's Faith to ash so that no one else will ever be subjected to this torture. So that we can _live_.”

The screeches of the Xenomorphs choir through the containment, music to my ears as they cry _hunt, hunt, hunt_.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lateness! we're kicking off the exciting parts from here! more biology, trust issues, and action! 
> 
> So, what do you think of a war between a hive VS genetically modified xenos? :3


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